


How to Woo Your Maiden

by squilf



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Brothers, Camelot, Chivalry, Comedy, Crack, Drama, F/M, Fairy Tales, Falling In Love, Fluff, Friendship, Historical, Historical Inaccuracy, Hunting, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Minor Violence, Romance, Royalty, Sexual Content, Slash, Swearing, Underage Kissing, Virginity, Wooing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-20
Updated: 2012-07-20
Packaged: 2017-11-10 08:47:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 32,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/464424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squilf/pseuds/squilf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sir Eames of Zenith is a bad boy. But when he comes to Camelot and meets the young Prince Arthur, he’s plunged headfirst into deep, smushy love. With only the help of his snarky manservant Yusuf and a book called <i>How to Woo Your Maiden</i>, Eames tries to become a chivalrous knight, and prove to Arthur that he truly loves him. Along the way, must avoid the all-consuming wrath of Arthur’s overprotective brother Dom, teach the adventurous Princess Ariadne how to fight, and risk everything – all in the name of love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: The Huntsman and the Prince

**Author's Note:**

> Written as part of the [Inception Reverse Bang](http://i-reversebang.livejournal.com/), for the prompt: _Arthur is a prince and Eames is the knight who’s trying to win Arthur’s affection. Ariadne is Arthur’s younger sister and is more interested in being a knight than a princess._ I’d like to thank my amazing artist [kamikaze_bunny](http://kamikaze_bunny.livejournal.com/) (you can see the art below), and my long-suffering beta [Ebony](http://flawedfacade.tumblr.com/), for all their hard work and help.
> 
> I'd also like to thank [voidcollar](http://voidcollar.tumblr.com/) for making [this amazing graphic](http://bewareofcrap.tumblr.com/post/48728605243/dont-hate-me-how-to-woo-your-maiden-by/) for this fic.

  
[Art](http://kamikaze-bunny.livejournal.com/286784.html#cutid1) by [kamikaze_bunny](http://kamikaze-bunny.livejournal.com/286784.html#cutid1).

 

 

 

Once upon a time, there lived a rather moody prince.

“Oh my God, dad, that’s _so_ unfair!” he said one day, “I’m just going to like, die, and then you’ll be sorry, because you never actually loved me.”

The king said, “I only asked you to take the bins out.”

The prince groaned and stormed out of the castle. He stomped into the stables, mounted his horse, and rode towards the Forest of Certain Death. The horse stopped dead as they neared the forest, refusing to go in.

“Oh for fuck’s sake Phillip,” said the prince.

The horse reared up, throwing him off.

“Fine, I’ll just go in on my own, then, shall I?”

The horse didn’t budge.

“Fuck you,” said the prince.

 

It wasn’t long before the prince realised that maybe entering the Forest of Certain Death wasn’t such a great idea. He fell into a ditch and got covered in mud, then got his cloak caught on a tree branch and had to leave it there because it was ruined. He looked more like a peasant than a prince. The forest was pretty creepy. The sun was setting and the trees shut out the light. The prince wandered, tired and lost, like when you go on a family holiday to Norfolk and your dad can’t read the map and the satnav keeps saying “recalculating” and it takes you like four hours to get there. After what felt like seventeen thousand hours but was actually more like two, the prince heard a low growl from the trees.

 

Out crept the Black Wolf. (Actually, it wasn’t completely black. It was kind of blackish, but there were grey and brown bits in there too and it had white feet, which was kind of cute because they were like little socks. But yeah, it was a ferocious wolf that was going to eat the prince so, you know, in that context it wasn’t really that cute.)

“Wow, I love your socks. You should try wearing those with sandals,” said the prince.

The wolf came closer.

“ _Nice_ doggie. Good boy. Sit,” said the prince.

The wolf came closer.

“You have beautiful eyes. Really, they’re lovely. Have you done something with your hair?” said the prince.

The wolf came closer.

“Oh fuck I’m actually going to die,” said the prince.

The wolf would have come closer, but just then an arrow shot through the air and pierced his heart, and he wasn’t going anywhere.

 

“Well, that was a bit of an anti-climax,” the prince muttered under his breath, looking down at the wolf’s limp body at his feet.

“Your gratitude is much appreciated.”

The prince looked up to see a young man strolling towards him, stroking his longbow. (That’s not a euphemism.) He was rugged and weathered, but in a sexy Aragorn kind of a way, not a weird old hippie dude who never washes kind of a way.

“Who are you?” said the prince.

“Oh, I’m a lowly huntsman, me. Just looking for my next quarry.”

The huntsman lowered his voice.

“Looks like I’ve found it.”

He cast the longbow onto the ground by the wolf, took the prince’s hand and kissed it.

“So. What’s a pretty thing like you doing out here? It’s a dangerous place.”

“Oh really? The Forest of Certain Death?”

The huntsman stroked a callused thumb across the back of the prince’s hand.

“Oh yes. There’s all kinds of things in here that’d be only too happy to eat you up.”

(That probably was a euphemism.)

 

The prince blinked, unimpressed.

“I got lost. So if you could tell me how to get out of here, that’d be great.”

“Alright,” said the huntsman, lips stretching into a wicked smirk, “But I will need something in payment.”

The prince rolled his eyes.

“Or, you could just tell me,” he said, fingers slipping out of the huntsman’s hand as he turned away.

“What about the ravenous beast?” cried the huntsman, gesturing towards the wolf.

The prince turned around, frowning.

“Is that what you call your dick?”

The huntsman shrugged, arms spread wide.

“It _can_ be.”

The prince sighed heavily.

“Okay. I’ve been in this forest for like a year now, so can you _please_ just tell me how to get out?”

The huntsman pointed north.

“Carry on that way for about a mile.”

“ _Thank you_ ,” said the prince, feeling very much put-upon.

 

The huntsman put a hand on his chest, stopping him from leaving.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“No, I’m just ignoring it. I don’t even _have_ any money on me. You can search me, but there’s nothing.”

The huntsman frisked him rather enthusiastically, patting down his pockets for several moments.

“Now you’re just groping me,” said the prince.

“Alright, you don’t have any money. But that doesn’t mean you can’t pay me with something else.”

“What else could you want from me?”

The huntsman sighed dramatically, one hand over his heart.

“It’s a lonely life, a huntsman’s. Out in the forest, alone… No-one to keep you warm, no-one to –”

The prince groaned.

“Yeah, yeah, my heart bleeds for you, whatever. Just tell me what you want.”

The huntsman smiled, tucking a strand of the prince’s dark hair behind his ear.

“Has anyone ever kissed you, darling?”

The prince looked down.

“My mum?”

The huntsman chuckled.

“Yes, well I’m sure she kisses you a lot.”

“She’s dead.”

“Right, okay, sorry. But… apart from her, has anyone kissed you?”

“No?”

The huntsman lifted his chin up towards him.

“I’d like to be the first.”

 

The prince shrugged and turned his face up and pushed his lips together, frowning.

“So kiss me,” he said.

And the huntsman did. That shut the kid up alright. He started gentle, hands brushing the boy’s face, then licked his way around the seam of the boy’s mouth, pushing his way in. The prince’s breath caught in his throat as the huntsman’s tongue laved around his mouth. The huntsman fisted his hands in the prince’s shirt, pushed harder, bit at his lower lip, and the prince bit him back, breathing out hard, clawing at his back, digging his fingernails in. The huntsman backed him against a tree, leaning his head back as he kissed him, pressing their bodies together, and the prince moaned quietly, small and surprised and shameless. The huntsman shoved a hand up under his shirt just to hear him make that noise again, fingers pressing into his flesh hard enough to bruise. The prince broke the kiss, gasping for air, pupils blown wide.

 

“Well, there’s your price,” he said, breathless and boneless, “I – I need to go home now.”

The huntsman nodded, hands braced against the tree.

“Won’t you kiss me goodbye?”

And the prince leaned up to kiss him, soft and short, one hand curling around the back of his neck, then pulled away and leant their foreheads together, eyes fluttering shut.

“I have to get back,” the prince whispered.

The huntsman touched his face, fingers rough but light.

“Stay lost a little longer,” he pleaded.

“I can’t.”

The huntsman kissed him anyway, filthy and fast, tongue shoved into his mouth so he nearly choked on it, knee pressed up between his legs. He pulled away and looked at the young prince, lips red and swollen, gulping for air, head tipped back against the tree, exposing the line of his neck. The huntsman kissed it, open-mouthed, sucking bruising kisses into his skin. The prince threaded his hands into the huntsman’s hair and whimpered quietly, mouth open, eyes squeezed shut.

“Oh, _oh_ ,” he said, wrecked.

 

It was fucking _great_ , and the huntsman fully intended to have his wicked way with this boy, because it’s not exactly like you get any when you live in the Forest of Certain Death, but then they heard a shout.

“Hello? Is anyone there?”

The huntsman pulled away, startled.

“Fuck, that’s my brother,” said the prince.

 “Your brother?!”

“Well, actually he’s my half-brother, we have the same mother but –”

The huntsman put a hand over his mouth and peered around the tree. There was a young man on horseback not far away.

“I need to go,” he whispered hurriedly.

He kissed the prince quickly.

“Come back for me,” he said, “Say you’ll come back for me.”

The prince pushed him away.

“I can’t. Go!”

The huntsman kissed him once more, passionate and hard, wrapping his arms around the prince’s waist to pull him close, then ran away into the trees. The prince slumped against the tree, breathless.

 

“I’ve been looking for you _everywhere_!” the prince’s brother cried, jumping off his horse and grabbing his brother in a tight embrace (which was awkward because the prince was pretty sure he had a boner), “What the fuck do you think you’re _doing_ here? It’s a dangerous place!”

“So I’ve heard.”

“What if something had happened to you? What if a wolf attacked you? What if a man tried to sully your virtue? I’d never forgive myself. I think I’d _die_.”

“I’ll arrange the funeral then.”

That was when the prince’s brother saw the wolf lying dead on the ground.

“What the fuck is that?!” he cried.

“A wolf?”

“Yes, I know it’s a wolf!”

“Well, you did ask.”

“What’s it doing there?”

“It’s dead, it can’t exactly move.”

“You killed it?”

“No, we had a nice chat about the weather.”

The prince’s brother picked up the huntsman’s discarded longbow.

“Where’d you get this?”

The prince shrugged.

“Oh, well, you know. It was just lying around.”

The prince’s brother squinted at him.

“You killed the Black Wolf of the Forest of Certain Death with a single arrow?”

“Actually, it’s more greyish-brown than black. And it has white socks.”

“What’s that on your neck?”

“What?”

“Those bruises.”

“Oh. Um, that was the wolf.”

“The wolf?”

“Yeah, er, it got me round the throat.”

“But it didn’t sever your veins and cause profuse bleeding?”

“Obviously not.”

 

 

So anyway, the upshot of it was, the prince’s brother dragged him home, and the prince was grounded for two fucking months which was totally unfair because he couldn’t even go to Gwaine’s eighteenth, and he couldn’t go back to find the huntsman, not that he even wanted to anyway because it wasn’t like he was interested in him or anything. And the prince’s brother insisted they take the wolf corpse back home with them which was really unnecessary and the prince got blood all over his shoes but at least everyone seemed pretty impressed with it so he got a few ballads. The hickeys on the prince’s neck didn’t fade for weeks, but he kind of liked them, liked touching them and remembering who’d put them there, even if his brother was suspicious.

 

The huntsman’s longbow would have become firewood if the prince hadn’t rescued it, stolen it from the woodpile and stashed it at the back of his wardrobe, hidden but not forgotten, because maybe, someday, the huntsman would come back for it. The wolf ended up getting skinned and put on the prince’s bed as some kind of weird blanket, and sometimes, in the winter, the prince would curl up under it and stroke the black-grey-brown fur, and remember the huntsman who’d killed it. (And maybe jerk off a bit.)

 


	2. Part One: Would You Care to Lower Your Drawbridge and Let Me Enter?

It was the first day of summer. It was an old and solemn tradition that on this day, the king would call together all the lords and ladies of the land, every noble of note, to come to court and pledge their allegiance to him. But to be honest King Uther thought that was pretty boring so over the years it had basically descended into everyone getting pissed and having a knees-up. It wasn’t like anyone was complaining. Well, except for Uther's stepson Dom, who always frowned furiously throughout the whole affair as if the world had personally wronged him. He disapproved of dancing and drinking. He’d had had fun once. It was awful. A fair number of the nobles attending the ceremony would stay at the castle for the rest of the season, staying at the king’s expense until winter came. They were meant to be there in defence of the king and the castle, but they ended up hunting and feasting and jousting. (Dom disapproved of these activities also.)

 

Sir Eames was one of these nobles. It was to be his first time at Uther’s court. He’d grown up in Uther’s kingdom, but back then, he hadn’t exactly been a noble. Well, this time five years ago, he’d got caught stealing and ended up evading the authorities by living in the Forest of Certain Death, which seemed like a good idea because that’s the last place anyone will look for a living person, but it was actually pretty bloody awful. But those days were long gone – now, he was a knight, bitch. He’d won the title in battle, serving King Vortigern. Well, kind of. Along the way there had been a lot of stealing, and lying, and cheating. And sleeping with the enemy. And his superiors. Basically sleeping with a lot of people. But now, he had a knighthood! (And very possibly chlamydia.)

 

“The thing is,” Eames said to his manservant Yusuf, “Tomorrow’s my first time. I need to make an impression.”

He scrutinised the clothes of his substantial wardrobe spread out on his equally substantial bed. (It had taken a lot of pounding. So to speak.)

“I’m sure you’ve made an impression your first time with anyone, sire,” said Yusuf, who was by now thoroughly bored of his master’s clothes-based dilemma.

“I need to stand out,” Eames continued.

He snatched up one of his loudest tunics, a dreadful striped silk affair.

Yusuf would have told his master not to wear it, because it’d make him look like a zebra on LSD, but this was the 13th Century so he had no idea what either of those things were. Instead, he just said, “ _Really_ , sire?”

“I’m sorry, Yusuf, I can’t hear you over the sound of _I pay your wages_.”

Eames picked up a feathered hat that was even more preposterous than the tunic and threw both items of clothing at Yusuf.

“I think this is diseased,” said Yusuf suspiciously, picking at the feathers on the hat.

“I don’t care, I’ve made up my mind,” said Eames, flinging himself down on his bed, hands behind his head.

Yusuf tried not to freak out over all of the clothes his master had just crumpled. It took fucking hours to iron that stuff.

 

“Who is it you’re trying to impress?” he asked.

“Everyone at Uther’s court. All the nobles will be there. I need to do some networking.”

Yusuf gave him a look.

“By _networking_ to you mean _sleeping with numerous members of the landed gentry_?”

“Oh Yusuf, you know me too well,” said Eames, smiling languidly, “But actually, no. That was what got me kicked out of Cenred’s court. And Lot’s. And Alined’s. If Uther kicks me out I’ve got nowhere to go. Except for Bayard’s kingdom, but that’s shit. No-one interesting to talk to. I mean, even Lot had that Celtic priestess.”

Yusuf sighed, smiling.

“Ah, Neytiri.”

“I always knew you had a thing for her.”

“She was hot.”

“She was blue.”

“That was blue woad!”

“ _What_?”

“It’s a Celt thing. She told me about it once.”

“I _bet_ she did. Anyway, back to me. I’m going to be on my best behaviour at Uther’s court. I don’t want to get a reputation.”

Yusuf gave him a look.

“You already have a reputation.”

“A worse reputation.”

“It’s hard to see how it could get much worse.”

“I haven’t _murdered_ anyone.”

“No, just slept with their wives. And daughters. And sons. And grandmas.”

“That was _one time_ , Yusuf!”

 

“Are you seriously telling me that you’re giving up your wicked ways? I don’t believe you. You’ve always got your eye on your next victim. Who is it this time?”

Eames grinned and rolled over onto his front.

“They say Uther’s son is quite a handsome lad.”

Yusuf’s eyes widened.

“Prince Arthur? Jesus bloody fuck, Eames! Do you value your life? Even just a little bit?”

“It’ll be _fine_.”

“Let me rephrase that question. Do you value your dick?”

“Of course. The ravaging beast has served me well.”

“Yeah, well, you won’t have it anymore if you get off with the heir to the throne of Camelot! Because his brother will _cut it off_!”

Eames rolled his eyes.

“You’re overreacting.”

“Eames, you don’t understand. Duke Dominick will –”

“Not know a thing! Think about it. Prince Arthur’s going to be king someday. If I can persuade him to feel congenial towards me, we, my good man, are in the money!”

Eames sighed.

“I’m tired of bowing and scraping and bending over backwards for stuck-up nobles. If I can fool a prince, I’m set up for life!”

Yusuf blinked.

“Come on, what do you say?” said Eames.

“I’ll say the eulogy at your funeral.”

 

 

Prince Arthur always enjoyed the first day of summer. His friends and family – the Fischers, Nash, everyone – came back to court after half a year of being away from Camelot. It was a good excuse to party, and therefore piss Dom off to whole new levels. He’d have a permanent bitchface for weeks afterwards, if he did it right. No, to be fair to Dom, Arthur did love him – in a you’re-my-brother-so-I-have-to-love-you-even-though-I-think-you’re-a-douchebag kind of a way. And Dom loved Arthur too – in a you’re-my-little-brother-and-you-piss-me-off-but-anyone-who-touches-you-will-die kind of a way. It was a complicated relationship. Their mother Ygraine had died giving birth to their little sister Ariadne when they were teenagers, and ever since, Dom had taken it upon himself to guard his younger siblings with his life. Not that King Uther didn’t care about them – he was just a bit more laissez-faire about the whole parenting thing. When he would say, “Oh, the kids are fine,” most people would say, “Holy fuck, how did they even get hold of those swords?”

 

 

Uther’s court ushered in the new season in the great courtyard outside, with the nobles, a cluster of fine jewels and silk robes and combed hair, lined up before the king, ready to renew their oaths of allegiance to the Pendragons. Prince Arthur and Princess Ariadne sat beside their father, their clothes embroidered with the royal symbol, a delicate motif of swirls, as did Dom. (Uther had made Dom a Duke when he married his mother, which was the highest position someone of non-royal blood could get, but everyone still just called him Dom.) Dom technically shouldn’t have been there because he wasn’t actually a member of the royal family and no-one really liked him anyway, but there you go. To be fair, he was basically a son to Uther: his father had died before he was even born, and his mother had married Uther when he was a toddler, so he’d always called him ‘dad’.

 

It took a long time to get through the hundred-odd noble families. Dom maintained a regal expression throughout (though Arthur was pretty sure he blushed when Lady Mal curtseyed, giving him a rather spectacular view down her dress), but Arthur got pretty bored and started trying to work out who the worst-dressed person there was, and Ari got fidgety until Dom glared at her. Eventually, they got to the last noble.

“Sir Eames of Zenith,” the herald announced.

The knight stepped forwards. Arthur awarded him the Worst-Dressed Award on the spot. He was wearing a ridiculous amount of garish striped silk and a hat that should be taken out and shot, red velvet with huge feathers, which hid his face as he knelt before the king, head bowed.

“I, Sir Eames of Zenith, do hereby swear allegiance to thee, King Uther Pendragon of Camelot, and do swear to serve you whensoever and howsoever you decree.”

“Arise, sir knight,” said the king.

Sir Eames stood up. His eyes flicked across to Prince Arthur, and they both froze. Arthur felt like someone had punched him in the stomach. It had been four years but it was him. There was no doubt about it. Arthur bit his lip and did his best to look royal and serious and like he wasn’t gagging to drag this man to his chambers and scream at him for at least twenty minutes and then maybe do some other stuff that would also involve screaming. Sir Eames retook his place among the ranks of the nobles and did his best to look noble and serious and like he hadn’t been gagging to fuck the heir to the throne for the past four years.

“Now the boring bit’s over,” said King Uther, clapping his hands together, “Let’s get this party started!”

 

 

“Do you know that knight?” Dom asked later, when they were standing at the edge of the Great Hall, watching the dancers.

It was all pretty civilized at the moment, but soon they’d reach _that_ point in the evening and King Uther would start grinding with a couple of maidens and it’d all go downhill from there on in.

“What knight?” said Arthur, taking a swig of wine, “There’s kind of a lot of them around.”

“Sir Eames of course.”

“Oh, I thought he was Sir Eames of Zenith.”

“So you do know him.”

“Who?”

Dom rolled his eyes.

“Sir Eames. The one in the stupid hat. He looked at you strangely. Like he recognised you from somewhere.”

Arthur shrugged.

“I’m a prince, Dom. Most people recognise me.”

Dom squinted distrustfully.

“Stay away from him. I’ve heard bad things about him. I don’t know what his intentions are towards you but I doubt they’re decent or upright.”

“Here’s hoping they’re indecent and horizontal,” said Arthur, knocking back a goblet of wine.

“ _Arthur_! Don’t joke about that! What would mum have said about this?”

“She’d have said I’m old enough to make my own mistakes. I’m nineteen years old, Dom. I don’t need you to protect me. I’m not a child anymore.”

“You can’t even fold your clothes properly.”

“Maybe I should get a wife who could do that for me.”

“That’s demeaning to women!”

“Your _face_ is demeaning to women!”

Dom facepalmed as Arthur left, and grabbed a goblet of wine.

 

Arthur wove his way around the guests, glad to be rid of his brother. He really didn’t want to think about Sir Eames. What could Arthur even say to him? “Hi, you’re the guy who tried to take my virginity when I was fifteen,” didn’t quite cut it. Arthur had another goblet of wine to steady his nerves. And then another. He just had to get through the evening without running into him, and then everything would be fine and they could all have cake.

 

 

While Arthur was quietly getting drunk and trying to avoid a stranger he’d almost fucked once, Dom had his back against the wall and a very attractive French woman on his front. (His evening was clearly going considerably better.) Lady Mal had cornered him before he could find out where the bloody fuck his little brother had got to, pulling him by the collar into a quiet corner. The man currently occupying that corner – Dom didn’t see who it was – made a hasty exit. Dom was starting to think that maybe he should follow suit.

“ _Bonjour_ ,” said Mal, and Christ, she did have a great rack, not that Dom was looking, because he did not approve of the objectification of women within Medieval society.

“Er, um, yes, you too, hi. Can I say – you have really great – I mean – you are a very beautiful lady.”

Dom blushed and stuttered and suddenly he didn’t know what to do with his hands and oh dear God he wanted to die.

“ _Merci_ , Dominique,” Mal smiled, “Oh, _excusez-moi_. Can I call you that?”

“Only if I get to call you ‘beautiful’.”

Dom was surprised at himself. That line actually wasn’t bad. Maybe talking to girls wasn’t so hard after all.

“You can call me anything you like,” Mal said, lowering her eyes, and Dom felt something twinge in his stomach, and somewhere a bit lower as well.

No, it definitely was hard. Talking to girls, that was. Not, you know, the other thing. Although she was pressing up close against him and oh God he wanted to die again.

“Well, er, thanks,” Dom stammered, “I’ll, um, bear that in mind.”

 

Mal ran her hand up his thigh, slowly.

“Bear this in mind as well.”

Dom bit his lip and tried to think of a way to tell her to stop molesting him in public while remaining polite. He couldn’t think of one. It seemed the gentlemanly thing to do was to allow the attractive French woman to grope him. He was okay with this. Mal leant in and whispered, “My room’s in the East wing. If you want to come.”

Dom was pretty sure that that was both terribly inappropriate and also a (rather fitting) double entendre.

“Right, er, I’ll just…” he began, trying to edge away.

Mal held him in place.

“You’ll come?”

“I don’t think – I wouldn’t want to – call your virtue to be questioned.”

“You can question my virtue anytime you like.”

“Erm… I…”

Mal’s hand wandered somewhere it really shouldn’t be (or really _should_ be, Dom was feeling rather conflicted about it) and she pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Just something to bear in mind, _mon cher_ ,” she said, and left.

Dom stayed there, staring after her – oh God, she had a great bum as well, life was so cruel to him – and tried to think pure thoughts. He was a gentleman. He did not want to come to Lady Mal’s room. He did not want to kiss her. He did not want to touch her smooth, full breasts. He did not want to run his tongue along her – oh, Jesus, fuck his life, he was _so_ screwed. (Possibly literally.)

 

 

To say that Eames was shocked would be an understatement. To say that Eames was having a complete fucking meltdown and questioning the purpose of his entire existence would be just about accurate. Because. Really. He’d tried to screw the heir of Camelot when he was very underage. That was all kinds of pervy, not to mention illegal, even if he was the prettiest piece of jailbait he’d ever seen, even if he was the most annoying little shit that needed the arrogance fucked out of him. But the worst thing – the absolute _worst_ thing – was that Eames had always thought fondly of that kid. (Which doesn’t mean that he’d touched himself thinking about him, although he had, but that wasn’t the point.) He’d sometimes wonder who he was, what he’d even been doing in the forest, if they’d have got to fourth base if they hadn’t been interrupted, if Eames would ever see him again, why he’d never come back for him. It was pretty pathetic, holding a torch for some spoilt kid he’d kissed years ago, and if he didn’t know better, he’d have said it was love at first sight. Luckily, he did know better, because he was Sir Eames of Zenith, bitch, and he loved no-one, except maybe himself (though even he wasn’t too keen on himself all the time). The whole situation was pretty shit. He just had to get through the evening without running into him, and then everything would be fine and they could all have cake.

 

So, Eames found a dark corner and managed to avoid human contact for all of five minutes, before Dom and that pretty French girl decided to occupy it. He couldn’t risk Dom recognising him (plus he really didn’t want to get an eyeful of whatever the fuck was going on _there_ , he wasn’t a total pervert, he drew the line at seducing impressionable teenagers thank you very much) and in his haste to get away, he didn’t notice the little girl in front of him until he’d tripped over her.

“I’m so, _so_ sorry, beautiful,” he said, kneeling down to check that she was alright.

The little girl looked up at him and smiled. Eames recognised her pretty face – she was Princess Ariadne, Arthur’s little sister.

“You talk funny,” she said.

Eames frowned.

“ _You_ talk funny.”

“No, it’s you.”

“Actually, I think it’s you.”

Ariadne stuck her tongue out, and Eames returned the gesture.

 

“It’s Princess Ariadne, isn’t it?” he said, “Or do you prefer ‘beautiful’?”

She shrugged.

“Both are accurate.”

Eames laughed. She was rather like her brother.

“I’m Eames,” he said, “Well, Sir Eames of Zenith, but you can call me Eames, because I like you.”

He winked, took her hand and inclined his head in a small bow.

“You’re a knight?” Ariadne asked.

“That I am.”

Ariadne smiled broadly.

“I want to be a knight! Dom says I can’t because I’m a princess but Arthur says he has a small dick and I can be a knight if I bloody well want to.”

Eames grinned.

“Your brother’s right, beautiful. I’m sure you’d make a fine knight.”

“How’d you become a knight?”

Eames scratched the back of his head. Ariadne couldn’t be more than seven – he couldn’t exactly tell her how he’d whored himself out to practically every noble in four of the five kingdoms. (He hadn’t got onto Caerleon yet, but just watch him.)

“Um… Well, I – I just kept coming – coming at it, you know, doing whoev – whatever I had to, and eventually, I reached the climax – of my… conquest, and I, I was given a knighthood.”

“Can you teach me to be a knight?”

“Er… I – I don’t really think so.”

“ _Ohh_ ,” said Ariadne, disappointed.

“But,” said Eames, because it looked like she was going to have a tantrum at any given second, “I _can_ teach you how to fight. Any future knight needs to know that. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Eames spit on his hand and held it out.

“Eww,” said Ariadne, backing away, “That’s gross.”

“Do you want to be a knight or not?”

Ariadne looked at Eames’ hand in distaste, but spit on her own hand and shook hands with him.

 

“Well met, young maiden,” said a dark-haired young man, swooping in and picking Ariadne up in his arms.

“Robert!” she cried.

Eames stood up, looking at the man. He wasn’t bearing the royal symbol, but he must have been some kind of relative of Ariadne’s, probably on her mother’s side.

“Verily, sweet cousin,” said Robert, putting her down and turning to Eames, “I hope mine dearest cuz has not caused any trouble unto thee, good sir knight. Unhappily the wench doth oft annoy others. She is merely a curious child, I assure thee.”

Eames frowned at him.

“You what?”

“He’s always like that,” said Ariadne.

“I know not what it is thou impliest?”

“Um, right,” said Eames, “Well, don’t worry, she’s been great. I’ll see you later.”

He ruffled Ariadne’s hair so she pulled a face and tried to smooth it down again.

“Fare thee well, sir knight,” said Robert.

“Yeah, bye, Eames!” said Ariadne.

 

 

By this point in the evening, Eames was trying to avoid Arthur and Arthur was trying to avoid Eames and Dom was trying to find Arthur and Uther was grinding with a few maidens and everything was about to go horribly wrong. Then Dom saw Uther, and Eames saw Arthur, and that was that. Dom was a prude and couldn’t stop himself from dragging his stepfather away for a chat on inappropriate behaviour. Eames was a lech and couldn’t stop himself from dragging his quarry away for a demonstration of inappropriate behaviour.

 

Arthur didn’t see him coming. One minute he was having his fourth (or was it fifth?) goblet of wine, and the next, he’d been dragged into a broom cupboard and Sir Eames was staring at him from under the rim of that awful hat.

“You’re a _prince_?!”

“You’re a knight?”

“You’re a fucking _prince_?”

Arthur jabbed a finger at Eames’ chest.

“You left me standing in the woods with a boner trying to explain to my brother why there was a dead wolf on the ground two feet away!”

“ _You_ took the credit for killing said wolf!”

Arthur flung his arms in the air, disturbing a stack of brooms in the process.

“What was I supposed to do? You buggered off! There was a wolf with a fucking arrow in it! I had to say _something_!”

“What was _I_ supposed to do? Tell your brother to come back in half an hour when I’d finished fucking you against a tree?”

“Fucking me against a tree? Who says you’d have got that far?”

“You weren’t exactly saying no.”

Arthur lurched forwards, pushing his way into Eames’ personal space.

“I was lost! I was tired, I was scared, I was fifteen! I wasn’t in any state to be saying yes!”

“Well you seemed to be doing it just fine!”

 

Arthur couldn’t think of anything to say to that, so he let out a strangled scream and collapsed onto Eames. He leant down and buried his head in Eames’ neck and Eames wrapped his arms around him and said, “Ssh, darling, I’m here,” and rubbed circles into his back until he stopped moaning quietly and stilled, and they stood there, Arthur’s hands fisted in Eames’ shirt, their breathing slowing down, until they’d forgotten that they were angry with each other.

“Are you done screaming at me yet?” Eames asked, after a few moments.

“No,” said Arthur, voice muffled against his chest.

Eames smiled and stroked his hair, absurdly fond.

“I missed you, darling,” he said softly.

Arthur sighed heavily.

“Hate you. You fucking bastard.”

Eames chuckled.

“Still a moody teenager.”

“Still a dirty pervert.”

Eames bent his head down, so their noses were touching.

“You love it.”

Arthur smiled despite himself, shifted a little closer to him, remembering the feel of them pressed up against each other, Eames still broader and bigger than himself.

“I wish I didn’t,” he said into Eames’ mouth.

Eames leant in, moved his hands to the small of Arthur’s back and whispered, “I haven’t forgotten what you like.”

“Mmm,” Arthur hummed, as Eames slid his hands up under his shirt, feeling at the warm skin there.

 

He put a hand to Eames’ face, leant forward to close the space between them, and –

“What the _fuck_ is going on here?!”

Arthur leapt away from Eames, which was difficult within the confines of the broom cupboard.

“Fucking hell, Dom!” he yelled.

Dom fixed Eames with a penetrating squint, the kind reserved only for those he’d happily throw into the deepest circle of hell. That covered just about every man or woman who’d ever dared to lay a finger on Arthur.

“I thought I told you to stay away from him, Arthur!”

“I thought I told you I didn’t give a fuck, Dominick!”

“You never said that!”

“It was implied!”

Dom grabbed Eames by the scruff of the neck and dragged him out of the cupboard.

“ _You_ ,” he said fiercely, “What do you think you’re doing with my little brother?”

“Half-brother,” Arthur corrected.

“I’ll deal with you later,” said Dom, shutting and bolting the cupboard door, “Now stay in here and think about what you’ve done!”

“You fucking _wanker_!” Arthur shouted, his voice muted by the door, “Shutting me in a broom cupboard is in direct infringement of the Geneva Conventions and as such I shall notify the necessary authorities!”

“What does that even _mean_?”

“I’m telling dad!”

“Yeah, fine, you do that. And I’ll tell dad what exactly you were doing in that broom cupboard, shall I?”

There was a pause.

“Fuck you, Dom!”

 

Dom seized Eames and started frogmarching him through the castle, down the winding spiral stairs. Eames was torn between seriously fearing for his life and worrying about his tunic, because it had already got torn and Yusuf was going to bitch about it forever if he ruined it.

“ _You_ ,” Dom said viciously, “Are spending a night in the dungeons. And although it is not in my power to exclude you from court for the remainder of the season, I can assure you, I will do my utmost to ensure that you never return here again.”

“This is just a simple misunderstanding, sire –”

“Oh no. I understand _perfectly_. You’re just another knave trying to use my little brother. I know your type. You think there haven’t been others like you? Well, there have, and I’ve stopped all of them.”

“I’m not like them, I –”

“What? You really care about Arthur? You don’t. No-one does, apart from me. Everyone else just tries to use him. No-one’s courted him, wooed him, been proper and decent to him.”

Eames fought the urge to point out that actually he _had_ done the wooing thing, rather well actually, but just then, they reached the dungeons and Dom deposited him in the arms of the guards.

“Is that what it’d take?” he asked, as the guards dragged him towards a cell, “To get Arthur?”

“Don’t get any ideas,” said Dom, “ _You_ won’t ever get him.”

The guards threw Eames into a cell, where he faceplanted on the cold floor. He lay there for a few moments, wretched and thoroughly pissed off with everything.

“Fuck my life.”

 

 

The next morning, Dom did not find his little brother in the best mood. He’d spent last night screaming and swearing even more than usual, and now he was furious with Dom and Eames and himself. Dom was a douchebag, that much was a given, but Eames had just showed up expecting Arthur to welcome him with open arms (and legs) and Arthur had just gone along with it. Dom did have a point – people were always trying to use him. He was still a fucking douchebag, though.

“I fucking _hate_ you!”

“Arthur, I think you’re overreacting.”

“Overreacting? _Overreacting_? You shut me in this broom cupboard for thirteen hours!”

“I did. But it was for your own good!”

“I drank five goblets of wine! Do you have any idea how much I needed to piss?”

“I really don’t –”

“I thought I was going to _die_! I got so hungry I thought I was going to have to eat my own arm!”

“Now that _is_ overreacting.”

“Where’s Eames? What did you do with him?”

Dom said nothing, picking at the hem of his sleeve as if it was utterly fascinating.

“ _Dominick_.”

Arthur stepped closer, frowning furiously.

“You threw him in the dungeons, didn’t you?”

“It was for –”

“Oh my actual _God_ , Dom! You can’t just do that! You can’t just imprison a guy for looking at me!”

“I think he did more than _look_. You can’t just let someone you don’t even know do that, Arthur.”

 

“I do know Eames!”

Dom rounded on him.

“You said you didn’t know him last night. You lied to me!”

“Maybe? Yes? I didn’t know I knew him!”

“What?”

“It’s kind of a long story.”

“I have time.”

“Well I don’t,” said Arthur, pushing past him, “ _If_ you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to release someone from the dungeons.”

Dom grabbed Arthur by the arm.

“Sir Eames isn’t trustworthy, Arthur. He wasn’t always a knight, you know. He got the title through thievery and deceit. He’s already been kicked out of at least three kingdoms for his dishonesty. He’s used countless nobles just to get money and power. Who’s to say he won’t do the same to you?”

Arthur froze, and Dom pulled him into a hug.

“I just want you to be safe. You’re my little brother and I love you.”

There was a pause.

“No homo,” Dom added.

 

 

Eames had spent the night in a cold cell with no company save for a few rats and a weird old guy who smelt weird and mumbled a lot about mushrooms. To be fair, Eames had had worse nights – in prison cells, in the forest, in the beds of particularly demanding nobles – but still, it wasn’t great. He hadn’t slept, and lay awake thinking about Arthur (but not touching himself – he was pretty sure the weird old guy was watching.) Arthur came for him the next morning. A nod to the guards and they released Eames, and Arthur took his elbow and steered him outside.

“You took your time,” Eames muttered.

“Oh, _I’m sorry_. I spent all of last night in the broom cupboard you dragged me into.”

“I was hoping the evening would end along those lines.”

They came to the courtyard outside, and Arthur let go of Eames, turning away from him in annoyance.

“Don’t even joke about it.”

Eames took his hand.

“I’m sorry.”

Arthur looked at him.

“What for, Eames? For getting me locked in a broom cupboard? For trying to shag me when I was fifteen? For turning up here and expecting me to just welcome you in?”

“I was going to say the broom cupboard thing… But yeah, that other stuff too.”

“You know what, Eames, just go. Dom’s right. Everyone wants something from me. There’s no-one who really cares about me, about who I am. You’re not any different. You’ve used a lot of people before. Why’d you treat me any better?”

“Arthur, please –”

“No. Just – just leave me alone. I don’t want to see you again. Like, ever. I hope you just _die_ so I won’t ever have to look at your stupid face again.”

“That’s a bit harsh, darling.”

“Go _away_ , Eames.”

Arthur stormed off, and he totally wasn’t crying, that was just his pollen allergy, it always happened this time of year. Eames didn’t follow him.

 

 

After a night of wavering, Dom had finally decided that he was a gentleman, and as such, he could not possibly visit Lady Mal’s chambers. He could, however, jerk off over her, which was the next best thing. It wasn’t the same, though. Mal cornered him again the next day.

“You didn’t come,” she said, invading his personal space.

“Er – I – erm – no.”

“I waited up for you.”

“Sorry about that.”

“Why didn’t you come?”

“It’s not – I couldn’t – I am a gentleman. It would – it would be improper.”

“Why do you care so much about rules, Dominique? I disregard them.”

“Yeah, but you’re French.”

“Can’t you break a few rules from time to time, also?” Mal asked, leaning closer.

“I – you know, I really shouldn’t.”

Mal smiled.

“But you want to.”

“Well, of course, who wouldn’t? You’ve got – you’re – I mean, yeah.”

“So why don’t you? No-one will know. It’ll be our little secret.”

Mal pressed a hand to Dom’s upper thigh, and Dom felt a lot more persuaded.

“I’ll wait for you again tonight,” she said, and left.

Dom groaned. This _was_ a quandary. On the one hand, there was a sexy French lady. On the other, a cold, empty bed. Yeah, it actually wasn’t much of a quandary at all.

“Who am I fucking kidding?” said Dom, and ran after her.

 

 

Yusuf stared at his master when he finally turned up at his room in the castle, dirty and bedraggled.

“What happened to you?”

“Dom happened to me.”

Eames sat heavily on the bed. It was alright, but nowhere near as large or as robust as his own bed. (That thing really could take some pounding.) The room was actually pretty small and plain, with a wardrobe, a small window, and an end table with a few books. This annoyed Eames more than it should have done. He was staying in the king’s fucking castle and his room didn’t even have a tiny hairdryer or biscuits or anything.

“You know you’re a fucking idiot,” said Yusuf unhelpfully.

“Oh, I know.”

Yusuf took off Eames’ God-awful hat, and attempted to brush the dirt off it. He had little success.

“Now what? Are you expelled from court?”

“No. But Dom’s pretty pissed and Arthur’s not that happy either. They’re making _get the fuck out_ noises.”

Yusuf gave up on the hat and pulled off Eames’ now dirt-encrusted tunic.

“I’ll have to burn these,” he said, unceremoniously throwing the clothes in a heap.

“You couldn’t just –”

“No.”

“Are they completely beyond –”

“Yes.”

Eames shrugged listlessly, and Yusuf sighed.

“You can’t say I didn’t warn you. I said it’d only end in tears. You have only yourself to blame.”

“What are you, my mum?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Yusuf, licking his finger and rubbing a speck of dirt off Eames’ face.

He’d never seen Eames quite so miserable. Normally when he got in trouble he’d just blame someone else, or else say “Fuck the police!” and do a strange sort of victory dance that involved a lot of pelvic thrusting. (Yusuf thought he didn’t quite understand that phrase.)

“Chin up,” said Yusuf, “There’s always Bayard’s court. Even if it is shit.”

Eames sighed heavily.

“What is it?” Yusuf asked.

 

Eames looked at him, utterly serious, and said, “I think I’m in love.”

Yusuf stared at him unblinkingly.

“What.”

“I think I’m in love with Arthur.”

“What the actual motherloving fuck? Are you alright? Did Dom hit you really hard? Shall I call a physician? Talk to me, Eames!” Yusuf cried, slapping him in the face for good measure.

“Ow! I’m _fine_ , Yusuf.”

“Do you remember who you are? You’re Sir Eames of Zenith. You’re an arrogant tosser who steals and lies and sleeps around for personal gain. You don’t care about other people. You don’t _do_ things other people do, like having friends or wearing underpants or falling in love. You just don’t. You’re also a shit employer. And you smell funny.”

“Now that’s just personal abuse.”

“Yeah, but you do deserve it.”

“I _mean_ it, Yusuf. I think I love Arthur.”

Yusuf looked at him sceptically.

“Why?”

“Just – I don’t know! He’s a stubborn little bitch. I love his smart-arse comments and the way he looks at you like he’s above you. He’s the prince and he knows it. He can say what he likes to you, and he doesn’t hold back. He puts all grumpy teenagers to shame.”

Yusuf frowned.

“Hang on – this is what you _like_ about him?”

“I bloody _love_ it.”

“Yep, you’re in love.”

“ _Fuck_. You’re sure?”

“In order to put up with that kind of shit, you’d have to be his mum, thick, or in love. And you’re definitely not the former, so I think it’s a combination of the other two.”

 

“Remind me again why I employ you?”

“Because all of your other servants walked out because, as I believe I’ve already mentioned, you’re a shit employer. Also because I’ve sworn to serve you until I can repay my debt to you.”

“Yes, why did you do that?”

“It’s a binding oath of honour. Don’t worry, I don’t expect you to understand, you don’t have any yourself.”

About two years previously, Sir Eames had saved his manservant’s life, before he was Sir Eames and before Yusuf was his manservant. The full story involves Lady Ealdgyd’s thighs, a castle guard with a secret ambition to become a thespian, and twenty thousand carrots – but it’s a long, _long_ story, and conveniently, one for another time. The upshot of it was that Yusuf had vowed to be Eames’ servant until he could save Eames’ life in return.

“That’s the problem, Yusuf! Dom won’t let Arthur go to anyone who isn’t honourable and true. Someone who can prove that they really care about him. And I know I’m not chivalrous or good or brave, but with Arthur, I’m not in it for the money, or the power, or even for the undoubtedly fantastic sex – I’m in it for the long term.”

 

Yusuf’s eyes went wide.

“Oh my God. You want to marry him.”

“Oh my God. I _do_.”

Eames flailed a bit and landed on his back, across the bed, head and legs dangling off the edges.

“I’m actually a teenage girl.”

He hid his face in his hands, and tried to think about manly things, like bacon and chopping wood and DIY and WWE, but it was all smothered by his silly smushy love for Arthur.

“What’s happening to me?” he groaned.

“There’s no fighting it, Eames. You just have to accept that you fancy him stupid and want to hold his hand and draw hearts on your parchment and get all flustered when he’s around. Only then can you fight for the annoying, hormonal lovemuffin of your heart.”

Eames sat up.

“You’re right. Arthur needs a man of honour, and I can be that man. I will woo, as I have never wooed before.”

“To be fair, your wooing technique consists of staring at someone’s arse and proposing a quickie behind the stables, so I don’t think that’s going to be too hard to beat.”

Eames winced.

“I need help.”

Yusuf sighed and slumped down on the bed next to him, and they sat in silence, thinking.

“If only,” said Eames, “There was some kind of guide that taught you how to woo properly.”

“As if someone would ever have the time or inclination to write _that_.”

It was at that moment that Eames looked at the books on the end table.

“What about that?” he said, pointing to the smallest one.

“Eames,” said Yusuf, picking up the book and blowing the dust off it, “The chances that this book, let alone any other, will tell you how to woo Arthur is virtually –”

He stopped and stared at the book. There, in faded gold letters on the cover, was the title _How to Woo Your Maiden_. Eames grinned.

“Impossible,” said Yusuf.

 

 

Arthur was not sulking. Running away from Eames, shutting himself in his room, throwing that stupid wolfskin off the bed, and then throwing himself onto the bed, did _not_ constitute sulking. He was just thinking. About Eames. About stupid fucking annoying handsome Eames who he completely hated and wanted to die a slow and painful death, preferably due to the application of leeches to his _face_. It wasn’t like he wanted to touch him again, kiss him again, just to see if it’d be like the way he remembered, if there was something he did that meant that kissing anyone else could never be as good as kissing him. Because that would be completely stupid, because Eames was a cheat and a user and he’d just take him for what he was worth, love him and leave him, and that’d be pretty fucking awful and Arthur would cry so much he’d get dehydrated and die because he was completely desiccated. So basically, he couldn’t shag Eames because that would result in his death, and probably Dom’s as well, because he’d challenge Eames to a duel because he was a fucking ponce, and Eames would kill him, and as much as Dom annoyed Arthur it was probably best if he didn’t die. Damn Eames and his penis of doom.

 

There was a knock at Arthur’s door.

“Go _away_ , Dom,” he groaned.

The door opened.

“I’m not Dom.”

“Dad?”

Arthur sat up, rubbing his reddened eyes.

“Hey, babe,” said King Uther, coming over to sit on the bed next to his son, “You okay?”

Arthur sniffed.

“I’m fine.”

“Come on. Tell me what’s up. You know you can tell your old man anything.”

Arthur smiled. He could tell his dad a lot of things, but not this. Even Uther had limits. Perverts in the forest was probably where those limits began.

“It’s nothing,” Arthur said.

“Is it a girl?”

“No.”

“Is it a boy? Which is cool by the way, I don’t care if you dig chicks or dudes, it’s totally fine, I mean even I feel a bit gay sometimes, your uncle Maurice isn’t bad-looking and I’d so give him –”

“Dad! Too much information!” Arthur cried.

 

“Sorry. So is it a boy?”

Arthur thought before he answered. On the one hand, he could tell the truth – King Uther was one of the more liberal rulers of Albion, and Camelot had women’s rights, racial equality, same-sex marriage, the works. On the other hand, King Uther was also his dad and he could be pretty fucking annoying, like everyone else in his family, apart from his mum because she was dead and couldn’t annoy him anymore. On balance, Arthur decided to say nothing, just looked down and bit his lip.

“It _is_ ,” said Uther gleefully, elbowing him in the ribs, “Isn’t it?”

“Yes, okay, okay, it is. Happy now?”

“Of course! I’m very proud of you, my firstborn gay son,” said Uther, hugging his son tightly.

Arthur hugged him back half-heartedly.

“Who is it? This isn’t the knight that Dom’s been telling me about, is it? Sir James or Eames or something. He wants him expelled from court for touching you.”

“Eames didn’t do anything!”

“Oh, so it _is_ him! How far have you gone? Have you boys had a roll in the hay?”

“Oh my _God_ , dad! No! We haven’t! I don’t even _like_ him anyway.”

“So what are you doing angsting over him?”

“I just,” Arthur sighed, running a hand through his hair, “We – a while ago – we kind of – had a moment.”

King Uther raised an eyebrow.

“A _moment_?”

“We just – it was a few years ago, and he was my first, and, yeah. And now he’s here again and I don’t know what – I just don’t know.”

“You lost your virginity to him years ago?”

“What? No!”

“Oh, I was going to say I was impressed. I myself was fourteen when I first –”

“ _Dad_!”

“Sorry. So you didn’t shag him.”

“No, it was just a kiss. Or two. Or more.”

 

“Oh. So was it more… romantic?”

Arthur laughed dryly.

“I didn’t even know him.”

The king nodded.

“But you still have feelings for him.”

“No! It’s just – no-one else I’ve ever kissed feels as good as him. I’ve tried, but it’s not the same. And I don’t know why.”

Uther put an arm around his son’s shoulders.

“I think I do.”

“Really.”

“It happened to me when I met your mother. I’d kissed dozens of girls, and did more besides, I had a lot of fun in my youth I can tell you – but when I met Ygraine, it was different. I couldn’t understand why I’d ever kissed anyone else. Why I’d ever want to kiss anyone but her. I loved your mother very much.”

“Dad, you’re not saying – I’m – _in love_?”

Arthur looked at his father incredulously.

“Yes,” said Uther, “I am.”

Arthur pulled away, stood up.

“No, no, no, not _him_ , why would I love _him_ , he’s ridiculous, he doesn’t love me, he’ll leave, I, what, how – _what_?”

Uther chuckled.

“Sorry, son. It’s just something you have to work out yourself.”

“But – but I can’t be in love, I _can’t_.”

“You can,” said Uther, getting up and going to the door.

“This is completely inconvenient!”

“You can’t choose who you fall in love with,” said Uther, smiling as he left.

Arthur groaned and sank to his knees and hugged the wolfskin to his chest and told himself he really, _really_ couldn’t do this. He looked down at the wolfskin, then chucked it under his bed. Think about the doom penis, Arthur. Think about the doom penis.

 

 

“I didn’t know you could read,” said Yusuf, chewing on an apple as Eames sat in his room, poring over _How to Woo Your Maiden_.

“I can’t. I’m just looking at the pictures.”

Yusuf rolled his eyes.

“If you wanted me to read it to you all you had to do was ask. It’s not embarrassing. I’ve done far worse things for you. I can read to you. I think we’ve reached that point in our relationship. In fact, I think we’re way past it.”

“Well, actually, I can read a _bit_. Sir Adam Godfrey taught me reading and writing. Along with a few other things. I wasn’t much good at it. I picked up the other things quite well though.”

“Just have a go at the first page. I’m sure you’re not too awful.”

Eames flicked the book to the first page and put his finger next to the first word as a marker.

“Ch-ap-ter – chapter one. De – dec-la-ring – declaring thine – thine aff – affect – i-on – affections!”

“Okay, I was wrong, you’re shit at reading.”

Yusuf grabbed the book from him.

“That’s undermining my self-confidence!”

“Oh yeah, because you don’t have enough of that already.”

“I could be hiding a deep hurt inside.”

“The only thing you’re hiding inside is cake,” said Yusuf, prodding Eames’ stomach.

Eames recoiled, clutching at the slight pudge on his stomach.

“I like food, okay? Is that such a crime, Yusuf? _Is it_?!”

Yusuf frowned at the book, paying his master no attention.

“Before pursuing thine maiden,” he read, “(Or dude, I don’t care, do who the fuck you want), ye must first make thine intentions apparent. Present thineself to thine maiden whenst she alone be, and declare thine affections and desire for matrimony with her.”

“Sounds simple enough,” said Eames, “I’ve just got to get him alone.”

“It’s not simple. Dom will be watching him like a hawk, and you said yourself he’s not too enamoured with you at the moment.”

“Come on. How hard can it be?”

 

 

“Jesus bloody motherfucking shit. I am going to die.”

It turned out that getting Arthur alone wasn’t as easy as Eames had previously thought. Dom wasn’t letting him anywhere near and Arthur hadn’t strayed from his guarded room almost all day, so Eames had had to improvise. He was starting to regret that now that he was halfway up the castle wall, attempting to climb up to the balcony outside Arthur’s bedroom in the middle of the night. Note the words ‘attempting to’.

“This was your idea,” Yusuf called up unhelpfully.

“Shut up and watch out for guards like I told you to,” said Eames, scrabbling at the rough stones for purchase.

“I think perhaps, sire, it might be better to stand here in case you need me to save you in the event of you imminently falling off that wall.”

“I’m not going to fall,” said Eames, and slipped down about three feet.

“You were saying, sire?”

Eames struggled up the wall and grabbed helplessly for the balcony.

“Majestic,” Yusuf said dryly, as Eames clutched at the balcony, trying to haul himself up onto it with little success.

“Not helping,” said Eames, his legs thrashing in mid-air.

After a few minutes, he’d managed to crawl up onto the balcony, panting with the effort. Luckily for him, Arthur’s bedroom door was open a little way to let the evening air in, because it was a hot night and Uther’s castle was crap and had no air con.

“Well, that wasn’t too bad,” he said.

Yusuf gave him a look.

“It was painful just watching you.”

“Stay there. I’ll need your help getting down.”

“You plan on getting down?”

“Yusuf, I’m not a _complete_ lech. I _can_ keep it in my trousers, you know.”

“Experience tells me otherwise.”

“You have no experience with the ravaging beast. Now shut up and stay there. I’ll be five minutes.”

“Wow, that’s quick. I hope Arthur won’t be too disappointed.”

“Shut up!” said Eames, pushed the door open, and went in.

 

Arthur’s bed was a huge four-poster affair. Eames deemed it even more impressive than his own bed, and Eames knew beds. The curtains were drawn, so Eames pulled one back and peered inside. Arthur was sitting up, sheets rucked up around him, staring at him.

“What the fuck are you _doing_ , Eames?” he hissed.

“You’re awake?”

“Surprisingly enough, yes. I was woken by the _excessively_ loud sounds of some _idiot_ climbing up the wall to my balcony! What are you _doing_ here?”

“I wanted to get you alone.”

“Oh did you now.”

“Listen, can I just,” said Eames, and climbed in, sitting on the bed by Arthur.

“No you can’t!”

“Just give me a minute, I have to tell you something.”

“What?”

 

“Um,” Eames took a breath, and then said very quickly, “I have a lot of feelings for you and they are feelings of a positive nature so I’m going to be chivalrous and good for you and woo you because I really care and I want to marry you sometime if you’re up for it because you’re just I don’t know I just need you.”

Arthur frowned.

“What?”

“I’m going to woo you.”

“Woo me?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I know you think I’m a user and a perve and a cheat, and you’re only partly right. I can be honourable, for you. So I’m going to woo you properly, like with poems and flowers and all that shit like you’re meant to and I won’t touch you inappropriately or make innuendos or anything.”

Arthur made a small whining noise because this really was too much, he didn’t know what to do, what he wanted. Eames took his hand and kissed it.

“I really – I do care about you,” he said.

Arthur’s breath caught in his throat and he felt like he really, really needed to break that promise to himself about not shagging Eames right now.

“ _Eames_ …”

“So, yeah. I just thought I’d let you know that now, so you can just –”

“Eames.”

“Yes?”

 

“I’ve been thinking, and I – I thought I should say – I’m sorry I didn’t come back for you.”

Eames smiled, squeezed Arthur’s hand.

“I’m sorry I tried to sully your virtue.”

Arthur crawled closer.

“I’m sorry for screaming at you.”

“I’m sorry for screaming back.”

“I’m sorry for getting you shut in the dungeons.”

“I’m sorry for getting you shut in a broom cupboard.”

Arthur smiled and crawled into Eames’ lap. Eames hugged him tightly.

“I can be chivalrous,” he said, “For you. You’re worth it. I’d fight scores of soldiers if it meant that you’d be mine.”

Arthur’s hands gripped onto him tightly.

“You’re just saying that.”

Eames laughed and tipped Arthur’s chin up with his fingers to face him.

“Arthur, I want to prove, to you, to everyone, that I want you. For as long as you’ll have me.”

“Eames…” said Arthur, and felt his resolve crumble.

“I’ve got to go,” said Eames, because he was a chivalrous knight, not a horny bugger, and he was going to leave because that was the honourable thing to do.

“Won’t you kiss me goodbye?” Arthur asked.

He didn’t even let Eames answer, just leant forwards, hands on Eames’ shoulders, and kissed him, soft and slow. Eames kept it chaste, didn’t push for anything more, because he was just here to declare the commencement of his wooing, nothing more, even if he did kind of really want to fuck Arthur into the mattress. It was like before, but it was different. They were older but none the wiser, because they still wanted this, like they needed it to breathe. Eames pushed Arthur back slightly, tipping his head back with one hand, kissing his mouth open. It had been four years since he had kissed Arthur and it was like nothing had changed, because he _remembered_ this, he remembered the way Arthur fitted against him, the warmth of his mouth, the press of his tongue, and he had missed it, he had missed it _so much_.

 

But at that moment the universe remembered that actually, it didn’t like Eames, and Arthur and Eames heard the latch on bedroom door being unfastened. They froze, mid-kiss.

“Shit,” Arthur whispered, “Hide!”

“ _Where_?”

Arthur scrambled off Eames and shoved the bedsheets onto him. Eames huddled up at the end of the bed under a mound of sheets, hoping to God his dreadful hiding place wouldn’t be discovered because Dom would probably have him executed if it was. Arthur lay back down in bed as if he was still asleep.

“Arthur?” came a small voice.

Arthur sat up, pulled back a curtain to see the small figure standing in his doorway.

“Ariadne,” he said, “What are you doing up?”

“Can’t sleep.”

The little girl came closer. Arthur, cursing his relatives for their seemingly innate ability to cockblock him, relented and hoisted her up onto his lap.

“And you’ll be able to sleep better with me?” he said huffily.

“No, we can be awake together. I’m bored being awake on my own.”

“Yes, well some of us are trying to sleep, Ari, which is, incidentally, what you’re meant to do at bedtime.”

“Sleeping’s boring.”

“Your face is boring.”

“Don’t like you,” said Ariadne, sticking her tongue out and rolling off her brother, to the other side of the bed.

That was, however, the side of the bed that Eames was currently occupying, and Ariadne bumped into him.

 

“Who’s here?” she asked, pulling the sheets back to reveal Eames.

He looked up at her awkwardly.

“Hello.”

“Eames?” she cried.

“You know each other?” said Arthur, “What, did you meet in a forest a few years ago as well?”

“We met this evening,” said Eames, sitting up and dislodging the sheets he was encased in, “Beautiful here was telling me how she wants to be a knight.”

“Eames is going to teach me how to fight,” said Ariadne happily.

“Oh is he now?”

“Eames, why are you in Arthur’s bed?” asked Ariadne.

“Um, I was just, you know – I was checking he was safe. Part of my knightly duties. Got to – guard the king and his family.”

“Yeah, you’re all about duty,” said Arthur flatly.

“It’s okay,” said Ariadne, putting a small hand on Eames’ shoulder, “I know about doing sex.”

“ _Ariadne_!” Arthur scolded.

 

“What? It’s just what grown-ups do when they love each other. Do you love Arthur?”

“Yes,” said Eames instinctively, “But we weren’t –”

“Wait, _what_?” Arthur cried.

“Well, that is why I’m wooing you, darling.”

“What – how can you love me? What did I do to deserve that?”

“I really don’t know what _I_ did to deserve it.”

“But you hardly know me,” Arthur reasoned, trying to persuade himself as much as Eames.

Eames shrugged.

“I know everything I need to.”

“What, that I’m a prince? That you can use me, like you’ve used so many other people?”

Eames came closer, put his hands either side of Arthur’s face.

“That you’re the single most beautiful person I’ve ever met, and if there’s anyone better I don’t care to meet them.”

“ _Eames_ …”

“I thought _I_ was beautiful,” Ariadne piped up, killing the moment.

“No, you’re horrible,” said Eames.

Arthur decided never again to have an emotional revelation in the presence of his annoying kid sister. It was a total mood killer.

“Do you want me to go, so you can do sex?” asked said annoying kid sister.

 

“I’m leaving,” said Eames resignedly, pulling away from Arthur.

“Why?” asked Ariadne.

“Well, I – need to carry on with my knightly duties. Make sure everyone else in the castle is safe as well.”

“Slut,” said Arthur.

“Listen, Ariadne,” said Eames seriously, “Before I go, you have to promise me you won’t tell anyone about this. I was never here. So keep this secret, or I won’t teach you how to fight. Okay?”

The little girl huffed.

“ _Okay_ ,” she relented.

“Good girl.”

Eames ruffled her hair because he knew it annoyed her and she quite deserved a little bit of annoyance.

“Goodnight,” he said, giving Arthur’s hand a quick squeeze before he left.

Arthur winced as he heard a loud clatter outside and a quiet, “ _Ow_ …”

 

“Arthur,” said Ariadne, shuffling closer to her brother, “Do you love Eames?”

“I don’t know, Ari,” sighed Arthur, idly playing with her long dark hair.

“Will you get married? Will you forget about me because you’ve got him to play with now?”

Arthur took his sister by the shoulders.

“Ari, I could never forget about you. I love you. Even though you’re bloody hard work.”

“Love you,” said Ariadne, and kissed him clumsily.

“Now, can we please go to sleep?”

 

 

That night, Arthur lay awake and fumed silently. He was furious with Eames . Again. He was also furious with himself. Again. These two feelings were not unconnected. Allowing Eames to woo him was a stupid idea. Eames was just trying to persuade him he was going to stick around. He’d make promises he couldn’t keep, pretend Arthur meant something to him, then bugger off back to Zenith, wherever that was. Kissing him was a stupid idea too. He just hadn’t been able to _stop_ himself – his whole body had rebelled against him, and he’d just let it happen. And Arthur normally never allowed his genitals to influence his decisions, the dirty bastards. Arthur made up his mind. Eames didn’t love him – that was ridiculous. He was never going to kiss Eames again, or touch him, or even go _near_ him for that matter. He was going to insist that Eames retract his ridiculous offer of wooing at once. Yes, that was the sensible thing to do. God, he was becoming like Dom.

 

 

Arthur woke up the next morning with his little sister curled up around him. Eames woke up the next morning with a splitting headache and bruises on most parts of his body.

“Well, that’s what happens when you fall six feet down a wall,” said Yusuf unsympathetically, shoving him out of bed.

Eames groaned in pain and writhed slightly on the cold stone floor.

“Come on. You’ve got to woo your moody teenaged love.”

“Can I do it without moving?”

“No,” said Yusuf, brandishing _How to Woo Your Maiden_ , “It says here you need to win your prince’s affections with gifts. Er, exotic fruits, ribbons, jewellery, flowers…”

“I don’t have any of those things.”

“Then you’ll just have to get some. Come on, get up.”

“Five more minutes,” said Eames, and pulled the sheets over his head.

“This isn’t the most auspicious start to your romance,” Yusuf said dryly.

“Auspicious? Yusuf, I tried to screw him in a forest when he was fifteen. I meet him again and his brother goes apeshit, shuts Arthur in a broom cupboard and me in the dungeons, and threatens me with immediate physical expulsion! There is nothing auspicious about it!”

“Well, look on the bright side. How could it get any worse?”


	3. Part Two: Can I Sheath My Sword In Your Scabbard?

“I feel like a prick,” said Eames as he stood outside Arthur’s chambers, looking critically at his morning’s work, a large bouquet of flowers.

There was a sign on the doorknob. It read _Don’t fucking enter! (Dom that means you as well you twat.)_

“You are a prick,” said Yusuf, leaning casually against the wall.

“Yeah, but I normally don’t notice it. Now I’m feeling it intensely.”

“Believe me, sire, I always feel your prickishness intensely.”

“That’s a relief,” said Eames, still hovering by the door.

“Sire, are you scared to knock on that door and give Arthur some flowers?”

“I’m not scared. I just – don’t want to do it.”

“Which is why you’ve brought me along.”

“I’m sorry, it’s just the whole romance thing is pretty embarrassing.”

“And getting caught with your trousers down behind the stables isn’t?”

“That was _one time_ , Yusuf!”

Yusuf rolled his eyes.

“Just knock on the fucking door, Eames.”

Eames gave him a savage look, but did as he was told.

“Go away, Dom!” Arthur yelled.

Eames smiled.

“I’m not Dom,” he called.

“Five minutes!”

 

Eames pushed the door open and stepped in. Then his breath caught in his throat and he just stood and stared. Inside Arthur’s room was a copper bath, and inside the bath was Arthur. Naked. Well, obviously. You can’t have a bath with clothes on, that’d just be weird.

“What the fuck are you _doing_ , Eames?” he cried, crossing his arms to cover his bare chest.

“You said I could talk to you for five minutes.”

“I meant you had to wait five minutes before I could talk to you!”

“Oh. Well you didn’t make that very clear,” said Eames, showing no signs of leaving.

“Well, go away, then,” Arthur prompted him, “I’m not decent.”

Eames shrugged.

“I think I like you best that way.”

He stepped closer.

“Want me to wash your back?”

“No, Eames, I do not, I want you to _go_.”

But Eames was doing it anyway, leaving the flowers on Arthur’s bed and kneeling by the bath, soaping up Arthur’s skin.

“ _Eames_ ,” Arthur said warningly, but then Eames’ hands were all over him, smoothing soap over his back, his shoulders, his arms, and he found he couldn’t really say anything in protest.

“There, good darling,” said Eames, pleased for once he’d managed to shut Arthur up, “Let me take care of you, yeah?”

He moved to Arthur’s chest, fingers grazing his nipples, slick with the soap, warm with the water. Arthur bit down on his lip and arched into Eames’ touch.

“I thought you said you’d wash my _back_ ,” he said, mostly to stop himself from whimpering.

“But darling, the rest of you is dirty as well,” said Eames.

“ _Eames_ –”

“So _very_ dirty.”

“What happened to being honourable?”

Then Eames’ hands were gone.

“Nothing,” said Eames.

Arthur let out a small whine of disappointment. Eames leant in, whispered into Arthur’s ear, “Look on your bed,” kissed the space underneath his ear, and left. Arthur looked down at his erection.

“Go _away_ ,” he told it.

His cock didn’t do as it was told. It fucking _never_ did.

 

 

Eames hadn’t forgotten about Princess Ariadne. Even though she was pretty annoying, not to mention a cockblock – two qualities that appeared to be shared by all of Arthur’s relatives – he did intend to honour his promise to teach her how to fight. He really didn’t want it to get out that he’d been in Arthur’s chambers late at night. He would rather his limbs remained attached to his body. That afternoon found him and the young princess at the training grounds, swords in hand.

“Be gentle on him,” Yusuf called to Ariadne as he lay on the grass, watching.

Eames gave him a look, hands on his hips.

“Yusuf, she’s a six-year-old girl. I doubt she can do much da– ahh, _fuck_!”

Yusuf collapsed into giggles as Eames looked down to see Ariadne’s tiny sword embedded in his shoe.

“You could have hacked my toe off!” he cried, pulling it out.

Ariadne shrugged regally.

“It would have been no less than you deserved.”

“And what did I do to deserve toe-hacking, exactly?”

“I’m seven. Not six. I’m not a _child_ ,” Ariadne said petulantly, arms crossed.

“Right. Sorry.”

Eames handed back her sword.

“I know everyone thinks I don’t understand anything,” she said, taking the weapon, “But I do. So you can all shut the fuck up.”

Eames cracked a smile. For all that she annoyed him, he did really quite like her.

“What kind of things do you understand, beautiful?” he asked.

“That you’re only teaching me to fight because you don’t want anyone to know that you were doing sex with Arthur.”

“ _What_?” cried Yusuf.

“I didn’t!” said Eames, “I swear to you, I haven’t done anything with your brother, Ariadne.”

“Really?” she said incredulously.

“On my honour as a knight.”

Yusuf snorted.

 

Eames gave him the finger and knelt down to Ariadne’s level.

“Alright,” he said, “Here’s how it is.”

He took a breath, deciding what to say.

“The thing is, I fancy your brother stupid,” he began, and felt like a bloody idiot for actually doing this, for actually telling her this, “And I want to hug him and kiss him and tell him all sorts of silly things like that I love him and I want to be around him all the time. And I want him to like me too. So someday we can be together and hug and kiss and tell each other silly things. But he doesn’t like me at the moment, so I’m – trying to persuade him he does.”

Ariadne frowned.

“So you didn’t do sex with him, but you want to.”

“Yes.”

“Because you love him.”

“Yes.”

“But he doesn’t love you.”

“Yes.”

Ariadne pulled a face.

“That’s silly.”

“It’s bloody fucking _stupid_ ,” Yusuf corrected.

Eames groaned and facepalmed.

“I know.”

Ariadne patted his arm consolingly.

“I’m sorry you can’t help but do stupid things like falling in love with my brother,” she said, “It must just come with being a grown-up.”

“Nah, I think it’s just Eames,” said Yusuf.

Eames gave him the finger again.

 

“How are you going to make Arthur love you?” asked Ariadne.

“I’m wooing him. Or trying to. I’ve got a book about it. It’s meant to work.”

“What’s wooing?”

Eames sighed heavily.

“I don’t really know.  All I’ve done so far is tell him I’m in love with him and given him flowers. I don’t even know if he _likes_ flowers.”

“Of course he will!” said Yusuf, “That’s what the book said. I’m sure he’s absolutely thrilled.”

“Ah,” said Ariadne.

Eames looked at her.

“What?”

“There might be a problem.”

 

 

“I want you to know that I hate you and that you are the source of all my life’s misery,” Arthur said.

“Darling, that’s a bit melodramatic.”

“I’m never melodramatic!” Arthur cried, throwing himself onto his bed so his limbs dangled off the sides.

“Of course you’re not,” Eames said flatly.

“Eames,” Arthur said sharply, “I am in _pain_ , and it is _your_ fault.”

“How was _I_ supposed to know that you had a pollen allergy?”

“I don’t give a fuck, Eames, my entire body is covered in a rash!”

“Surely not your _entire_ body.”

Arthur gave Eames a look.

“Everything, Eames.”

“Even your –”

“ _Everything_.”

Eames winced.

“That can’t be comfortable.”

“No it bloody can’t! I _itch_!”

“Scratch?”

“No, you can’t scratch it, you only make it worse,” whined Arthur, who was by now practically _writhing_ on his bed (but not in the way Eames would like).

 

“ _Ssh_ ,” said Eames, sitting on the bed and pulling Arthur up into a hug, “Ssh now.”

Arthur whimpered and leant into Eames’ touch, rubbing himself against him.

“Are you scratching yourself on me?” asked Eames.

“Aah – fuck – that’s good – yeah,” said Arthur, pushing himself onto Eames’ lap, getting close to create as much friction as possible.

“You know you’re not supposed to do this,” said Eames, and ran his hands down Arthur’s back.

“Shit – I don’t care – oh, there, just there, _fuck_.”

“You’ve got a terribly dirty mouth on you, darling.”

Arthur whimpered and moaned as Eames scratched his back.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he said, “Ahh, don’t stop, don’t stop, harder, _harder_ …”

 

And of course, the universe being the bitch that it was to Eames, that _would_ be the moment that Dom chose to storm into the room, screaming, “What the _fuck_ are you doing to my little brother?!”

“Oh my _God_ , Dom!” yelled Arthur, not moving from his position astride Eames’ lap, “There is a _sign_ on the door saying _don’t fucking enter_!”

“I’m starting to think I should put that sign on you,” said Dom angrily, squinting furiously at Eames.

Eames widened his eyes innocently, holding out his palms.

“I have never _entered_ Arthur, nor attempted to do so.”

“Oh _right_ ,” scoffed Dom.

Arthur tightened his grip on Eames’ shirt.

“Yeah, I top,” he said sarcastically.

“ _What_?” cried Dom.

He narrowed his eyes even further at his younger sibling.

“You shouldn’t joke about such things!”

“You shouldn’t be so fucking terrified of them!”

“I am not _scared_ of sex!”

“Yeah? When was the last time you got laid?”

Dom blushed scarlet. Arthur and Eames stared at him, open-mouthed.

“ _No_ ,” said Arthur, shocked, “ _You_? What? Who’d even _want_ to? Eurgh, mental images!”

“You can’t tell anyone!” cried Dom.

 

Eames grinned.

“It’s that French girl, isn’t it? The one I saw you with at the feast. Before you had me thrown in the dungeons, that is. What was her name, Arthur? Maëlle? Marie?”

“Marthe?” guessed Arthur, playing along, smiling wickedly as Dom fidgeted uncomfortably, “Mathilde? Margot?”

“Marion? Marjolaine? Ma –”

“It’s Mal, okay!” Dom burst out, “Her name’s Mal!”

“That’s it!” said Eames triumphantly, “Lady Mal. Knew it was something along those lines. She’s quite a looker, isn’t she Arthur?”

“Oh definitely. Great tits.”

“Don’t make me jealous, darling.”

Arthur laughed.

“Punching above your weight, much, Dom?” said Eames.

“Like you can talk,” said Arthur.

Eames’ eyes raked up and down Arthur’s body.

“Well, you are rather delectable.”

“Shush, not now.”

Eames ran a hand up Arthur’s back.

“Then later maybe?”

“Alright, that’s quite enough of that!” said Dom sternly.

Arthur and Eames jumped and turned to look at him.

“Oh sorry,” said Eames, “Are you still here?”

Arthur laughed into Eames’ shoulder. Dom pointed an accusing finger at them both.

“You two,” he said, “Are never going to mention _anything_ about me and Mal. To anyone. Ever. And you are also going to stay the fuck away from each other.”

“How about no?” said Arthur.

“Now listen to me –”

“Actually, listen to me,” said Eames, “I have a great idea.”

“Makes a change,” Arthur commented.

“I have some brilliant ideas,” Eames murmured, “I’ll tell you some of them later.”

Dom cleared his throat loudly.

 

“I propose,” said Eames, turning back to Dom, “That Arthur and I solemnly swear never to mention to anyone what we know about your and Mal’s kinky international relations. And, in return for this favour, you allow me to woo Arthur.”

“ _You_ shouldn’t even be in court, Eames! I’ve spoken to the king about you.”

“And so have I,” countered Arthur.

“You _have_?” Dom and Eames said simultaneously.

Arthur looked at Dom, his chin jutting out stubbornly.

“Eames is staying, whether you like it or not.”

“And whatever you say, I’m going to woo him anyway,” Eames added.

“ _Woo_ him?” Dom repeats.

“Of course. You gave me the idea. You told me everyone just tried to use Arthur. You said to get him I’d have to court him properly, prove that I care about him.”

“I said nothing of the sort! I distinctly remember telling you that _you_ wouldn’t ever get Arthur!”

“I don’t belong to anyone,” said Arthur huffily.

“I do,” Eames said quickly.

Dom rolled his eyes.

“Eames, I do not approve of you wooing my brother, and I _never_ will.”

Arthur shrugged.

“Dad doesn’t mind.”

“ _What_?” cried Eames and Dom.

“He knows what Eames wants to do to you, and he _doesn’t mind_?” cried Dom.

Arthur nods.

“Yup. But he might mind if he found out you were sleeping with a certain Frenchwoman visiting court behind his back.”

 

Dom sighed, buried his head in his hands.

“ _Alright_.”

He stared hard at Eames.

“But _you_ – don’t you try anything. You know what I’m talking about. Be honourable, for once.”

“Of course,” said Eames, smirking, “A gentleman would never sleep with someone he wasn’t married to.”

Arthur laughed. Dom didn’t.

“You are in no position to judge me.”

“Neither are you,” said Eames.

Dom frowned, pursing his lips.

“Just keep your hands off Arthur,” he said, and left.

 

Eames and Arthur collapsed into giggles, Eames lying back on the bed with Arthur on top of him, his head buried in Eames’ chest.

“But _really_ ,” said Eames, still laughing, “ _Him_? And _her_?”

“Ugh, I don’t even want to _think_ about it! Too gross.”

“What a hypocrite. ‘Oh no Eames, you can’t possibly _touch_ my precious baby brother, excuse me while I shag a Frenchwoman’.”

Arthur laughed.

“I only want to woo you,” said Eames, running his hand down Arthur’s arm.

Arthur looked up at Eames.

“Only that?”

Eames shrugged.

“Maybe some other stuff too.”

Arthur braced his arms either side of Eames’ chest and looked down at him, his eyelashes long and dark.

“Other stuff? That’s a bit vague. Care to clarify?”

 

Eames opened his mouth to speak but then Arthur’s lips were on it, warm and insistent, and this was new, this was different from any time they’d kissed before – which was actually only six times, not including this, not that Eames was keeping count or anything because that would be sad  – because Arthur was taking charge. Pushing his skinny body down onto Eames’, pushing his tongue into Eames’ mouth, pushing his hand into Eames’ hair, pushing gently, like he wasn’t sure of himself just yet, but still, pushing. Eames kissed him back, hands on Arthur’s hips, pulling him down so he was lying on top of him, chest to chest, hipbones bumping against each other, because this was good, this was _more_ than good, and he wanted Arthur as close as he could get him, wanted to drink him in. Arthur whined quietly in the back of his throat and bit at Eames’ lower lip, the way he had done four years ago, and Eames’ breath hitched in his throat. He was so turned on right now and he’d been kissing Arthur for fifteen seconds – not that he was keeping count or anything. It was a little bit pathetic, but Eames didn’t care, not when Arthur was like this, stretched out on top of him and snogging him. Stupid sexy Arthur. Then Arthur stopped kissing him and everything started getting much less awesome.

“What?” asked Eames.

“My dick is _really_ itchy.”

Arthur rolled off Eames onto his back, wincing.

“You should probably get some cream for that.”

“I’ll call the physician in a sec.”

“Do you think you’ll need some help applying it?”

“Eames.”

“Yes?”

“Leave. Now.”

 

 

That night, Arthur lay awake and fumed silently. He was furious with Dom and Eames and himself. It was a state he was becoming accustomed to. Well, he was always mad at Dom, he was a douchebag, but still, the triple-whammy of annoyance and loathing wasn’t great. He was angry with himself for kissing Eames. Again. He’d made up his mind to tell Eames to cease and desist, and had ended up making out with him instead. He was angry with Eames for making him want to kiss him. It was his fault for being so bloody handsome and charming and funny and having those lips and those hands and Arthur realised his dick was getting hard and bloody fucking _hell_ that thing had a life of its own. He was angry with Dom for being such a wanker. If he wasn’t shagging that French girl Eames wouldn’t have been able to wheedle his way into staying. God, even _Dom_ was getting some action. Arthur groaned. He was going to die a virgin.

“Yeah, you don’t like _that_ , do you?” he said to his dick.

He really needed to stop talking to it.

 

 

“Poetry,” said Yusuf.

“It’s not yet dawn,” said Eames.

“I don’t care what time it is, you need to write poetry.”

“What?”

“You have to woo Arthur with poetry. It’s here in the book.”

“Oh yeah, because the book got it so right last time.”

“You got any better ideas?”

“Yes, you let me go back to sleep, you sadistic fuck.”

“Nope,” said Yusuf, tugging at the covers of Eames’ bed.

Eames clung onto them, trying to hide his face under the blankets. Yusuf sighed.

“Do you love Arthur or not?”

“Not enough to get up.”

 

 

“ _So_ ,” said Uther, “How’s things?”

He grinned at his son across the breakfast table, raising his eyebrows expectantly. Arthur resisted the urge to roll his eyes. This was his father’s idea of subtlety. Ariadne giggled. Dom skewered a slice of bread on his knife just a little too forcefully.

“Fine,” said Arthur, wilfully misunderstanding his father, “The weather today seems clement.”

Uther gave him a look.

“How are things _with you_?”

“My rash has gone down quite well, thank you.”

“Silly Eames,” said Ariadne, shovelling her breakfast into her mouth, “He’s never going get you to marry him if he keeps making you ill.”

Dom nearly spat out his coffee. Arthur kicked her under the table.

“Ari,” he said sternly, “ _Don’t_.”

“But Eames said –”

“I don’t care what he said, I will stab you with this fork if you repeat it.”

“But –”

“Do you _want_ a fork in your eye?”

Ariadne shut up, but looked pissed about it.

 

“What’s this?” asked Uther, as if he didn’t already bloody know.

“Arthur,” said Dom viciously, “Has a wooer.”

“He must be pretty determined if you haven’t managed to scare him off yet.”

“Oh,” Dom said bitterly, “He’s determined alright.”

Uther gave his son a broad wink.

“Daddy, why did you wink at Arthur?” asked Ariadne.

“Because your brother’s getting some, sweetie.”

Dom and Arthur both choked on what they were eating.

“What, am I not right?” asked Uther.

Arthur pulled a face.

“Not in the way you think.”

Uther frowned, Dom blushed, Arthur hid his smile behind his hand.

 

Then Yusuf stepped into the room.

“Yusuf!” cried Ariadne.

“Princess,” he said awkwardly by means of greeting, nodding in her direction, “Assorted members of the royal family. And Dom. Morning.”

He shuffled over to Arthur and passed him a small roll of parchment.

“I’ll just be off then,” he said, backing out of the room.

“Who’s that?” asked Uther.

“Yusuf,” said Ariadne, “He works for Eames. They swear at each other a lot. They’re like Dom and Arthur. I don’t think they’re brothers though.”

Arthur unrolled the parchment. Then he really, really wished he hadn’t.

 

_Yor eeyes are leik saffires, (or emrolds, I kan’t remmeber witch are the brwon wons, Yusuf sez no jools are brwon but hes a dick)_

_Iggniting my hart’s fire,_

_Yor hare is leik relly black durt, the cind taht’s relly gud for rozes, (don’t arsk me how I no taht)_

_And yu also hav a grate nose,_

_Yor lips are leik red whine, (ecksept there not likwid)_

_Becoz yu are so fine,_

_I havnt ceen the rest ov yor bodie (yet) but I bet taht’s prety hot two,_

_But evn if its not I wont menshun it becoz I luve yu._

_(Yu also hav a grate arse but I carn’t tihnk ov ennytihng taht rimes with arse.)_

 

Dom squinted at the scribbled poem.

“Classy,” he said dryly.

“Yeah Dom,” said Arthur under his breath, “‘Cause you’d know all about that.”

“He can barely communicate.”

“I know. It’s almost like he’s speaking French.”

Dom smacked him upside his head.

 

 

Ariadne and Eames had been out on the training grounds for about an hour when Arthur turned up. Yusuf was watching them, idly cleaning his master’s armour. (Eames was never going to use it, which Yusuf had pointed out, but Eames had just said “I’m your employer, not your sugar daddy. Clean the fucking armour, bitch.”) Arthur crossed the field and joined Yusuf.

“Is he coping okay?” he asked, nodding towards Eames, who was being repeatedly jabbed at by Ariadne’s tiny sword.

“Just about,” said Yusuf, “She’s a fierce one.”

“She gets it from mum. The woman was always declaring wars. She was either fierce or just really hated the Welsh.”

Ariadne’s sword found its mark, hitting Eames square in the chest, and he yelped in an extremely manly way, stumbling backwards, landing on his back on the grass. Yusuf and Arthur laughed. Eames stayed where he lay, and Ariadne poked him with her sword.

“Do you yield?” she demanded.

“I _can’t_ yield, you’ve already killed me!”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” said Ariadne.

She ran over to her brother, sheathing her sword and hugging him tightly, her arms around his waist.

“Did you see me? Did you see me fell him? Did you?”

“I did. Now come on, Robert wants you to show him how the coffee machine works. I hope you’ve thanked Eames for doing this for you.”

“He’s only doing it to get into your pants.”

“You’ve been talking to dad too much. Now go say thank you to Eames.”

Ariadne hurried over to Eames, who had dragged himself up into a sitting position, and kissed him on the cheek.

“Thank you, Eames.”

“No problem, beautiful.”

“Go on,” said Arthur, pushing her in the direction of the castle.

“ _Right_ ,” said Ariadne slowly, heading off, “I’ll just leave you two to it.”

 

Eames held out his hand and Arthur took it, pulling him to his feet.

“Thanks for taking care of her. She’s a pain in the arse but she’s kind of awesome too.”

“Do I get a kiss from you too, then?”

Arthur laughed.

“That’s not a no,” said Eames.

“It’s not a yes either.”

“Mm, still not a no.”

“I haven’t forgiven you for that poem yet.”

“What was wrong with it?”

“What was _right_ with it?”

“It rhymed! It had similes!”

“Eames. It was shit.”

Eames looked crestfallen.

“I spent _ages_ on that. Well, okay, half an hour, but it felt like ages. I was pouring out my soul there, Arthur. It was painful to write.”

“It was painful to read.”

Eames stuck out his lower lip, pouting like a child, and Arthur’s heart melted a little. He sighed, ran a hand through his hair.

“Sorry. Just – never again, okay?”

Eames took Arthur’s hand again and squeezed it.

“Okay. I guess I’ll just come up with another way of wooing you.”

Arthur pulled his hand away.

“I should be getting back. Ariadne and Robert really need supervision with that coffee machine. It’s already exploded twice. The dogs were licking coffee off the kitchen walls for days, it wasn’t hygienic.”

“Let me walk you there,” offered Eames, as Arthur started to leave.

“I can do it myself,” said Arthur, walking off, “I know the way. I do live here.”

“So do I! Temporarily!”

“Yes, Eames,” Arthur called over his shoulder, “ _Temporarily_.”

“Ooh,” said Yusuf, wincing as Eames watched Arthur go, “ _Burn_.”

 

 

“A demonstration of thine manly strength,” Yusuf read, “Should impress thine maiden certain sure. For thee doth display that thou canst defend her from any terrifying beasts or villainous rogues that she may encounter.”

“Yeah,” Eames said flatly, lying face down on his bed, “Because Arthur’s always encountering terrifying beasts.”

“He’s certainly always encountering villainous rogues.”

“Oh ha ha. You know Yusuf, you should be a jester, you’re so fucking hilarious.”

Yusuf set the book down and looked at Eames, arms crossed.

“Alright, don’t get your pantaloons in a twist. What’s the problem?”

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

“You’re obviously no–”

“ _Fine_.”

“Is this about Arthur blowing you off earlier?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“Okay, yes.”

Eames sat up, grabbing his pillow and hugging it to his chest.

“He’s kind of hot and cold with me,” he said, “Like, he screams at me but he kisses me too. Well, sometimes. Mostly he screams.”

“He probably just hasn’t made up his mind about whether or not he likes you yet.”

“I wish he’d do it quickly. And with less screaming. Unless it’s in a sex-based scenario. Then he can scream. In fact, I’d be offended if he didn’t. I think he’d scream a lot. I’d make him scream.”

“Please stop thinking about screwing a teenager. I am still here, you know. At least give me some warning so I can leave the room and give you some _alone time_.”

Eames looked up, thinking.

“A display of manly strength, you said?”

“I did.”

“I know just the thing.”

 

 

“What do you want?” Arthur growled.

Eames smiled, the broad, bright grin that he used whenever he wanted something. In this case, entrance to Arthur’s room. Arthur wasn’t looking too keen on providing it to him, glaring at him sternly from behind his bedroom door.

“Oh, so many things, my darling. Gold in my pockets, food in my belly, you under my body –”

“ _What_?”

“Or on top of it, if you prefer.”

“ _Eames_.”

“Yes?”

“I’m going to bed now. Goodnight.”

Arthur went to shut the door but Eames stuck his foot in the doorway, holding the door open. He immediately regretted it. That door was solid oak. He wondered vaguely if any of the bones in his foot were not broken.

“I just wanted to ask you a question,” he said, bearing the pain.

“Really. That’s _all_ you wanted.”

Eames shrugged.

“I’ll only want more if it’s offered.”

“Yeah, that’s not happening.”

“I know. Hence, my question.”

 

“What is it?”

“Can I have my bow back?”

Arthur looked down, bit the inside of his cheek.

“What makes you think I took it?”

“The fact that you just said that.”

“Alright, so what if I did? It doesn’t mean anything. It wasn’t a sentimental thing. I had to give everyone a valid reason as to why that bloody wolf was dead, okay? It wasn’t because I hoped you’d come back for it or something. It’s not like I liked you because I didn’t, I didn’t even _know_ you. Dom picked it up, anyway, it wasn’t me. And I just shoved it somewhere and forgot about it, it’s probably broken, I should throw it out.”

Eames smiled, looking down.

“What are you smiling about?” Arthur demanded.

“You. You’re – a darling.”

“I’m _not_. I’m not anyone’s darling.”

Eames met Arthur’s eyes.

“You are mine.”

 

Arthur looked down, then opened the door wider.

“It’s in the wardrobe,” he said.

Eames smiled and walked – well, limped – in, crossing over to the wardrobe. Arthur shut the bedroom door and leant back against it, arms crossed. Eames found his longbow at the back of the wardrobe and ran his hands over the smooth wood reverently, remembering the shape of it.

“I had this baby for years,” he said, “Nothing better for hunting. Well, apart from maybe a crossbow, but I couldn’t afford one of those.”

“You could now.”

“It’s not the same. I just love the feel of her, you know?”

“ _Her_?”

“Hey, I was alone in the forest for a long time.”

“How long?”

Eames considered it.

“About a year. Until you showed up.”

“No wonder you got on me,” said Arthur, his voice betraying his disappointment.

 

Eames stepped closer to Arthur – even though it hurt his foot quite a bit – and touched the side of his face with the backs of his fingers.

“It wasn’t just that. I _liked_ you, Arthur.”

“I liked you too,” Arthur said softly.

Then he shrugged and said quickly, “But that was stupid because I didn’t even know you, and now I do it turns out that you’re untrustworthy and rude and it would be sensible if I never spoke to you again.”

Eames raised his eyebrows.

“I suppose it’s just as well you’re not sensible, then.”

Arthur frowned, and it was really a sign of how far gone Eames was that he found it utterly adorable.

“Darling, I’m not asking anything of you. Just let me prove to you that I’m going to stick around.”

He leant their foreheads together.

“I am in love with you, you know. As strange as it seems. Trust me, this is weird for me too. It’s never happened before. But it’s true. I love you. And – I don’t think you are entirely indifferent to me.”

“Presumptuous bastard.”

“Fucking cocktease.”

Arthur broke into a smile.

“Alright, I’m going,” said Eames, shouldering his longbow.

Arthur opened the door, leaning against it.

“Goodnight,” said Eames, and kissed him on the forehead before he left, backing out of the room, closing the door behind him.

 

He turned around and nearly crashed into Dom, who was standing a few feet outside Arthur’s room with a face like thunder.

“You alright?” asked Eames.

Dom squinted at him.

“Do I _look_ alright?”

“No, you look like you’ve got cataracts or something.”

Eames started to move away but Dom’s hand shot out and grabbed him tightly.

“What were you doing in my brother’s chambers?”

“Getting this back,” Eames replied smoothly, gesturing to the longbow, “Remember it?”

Dom looked blankly at the longbow, the same roughly-fashioned yew used by men all over the kingdom.

“Why would I remember it?”

“Because you picked it up four years ago. In the Forest of Certain Death.”

Dom’s face contorted from expressionless to blind rage in the space of three seconds. It was pretty scary.

“You were there?! The night Arthur killed the Black Wolf, _you_ were there?!”

Eames didn’t say anything, because it looked like Dom was about to inflict serious pain imminently if he did.

“I _thought_ something wasn’t right! Arthur said he’d just _found_ that bow and killed the wolf with it. He’d never fired a bow in his life, but – I didn’t think it _could_ have been someone else, it _is_ the Forest of Certain Death, it’s not called that for no reason! Jesus _Christ_. So it was you, _you_ killed it, not Arthur.”

Eames nodded.

“Well – well done,” said Dom, inanely.

“Thanks.”

Dom frowned.

“Those bruises on Arthur’s neck –”

“The wolf. The wolf did that.”

“ _That_ was you, too! You saved Arthur from a wolf and then fucked him? What kind of pervert are you?”

“Dude, I did not fuck a dead wolf.”

Dom grabbed the front of Eames’ shirt and shoved him backwards against the wall.

“ _Or_ Arthur!” Eames added.

 

That was when Arthur’s bedroom door opened and a very pissy Arthur, who had evidently heard the sounds of the scuffle, stormed out.

“Dom, get the _fuck_ off my – get the fuck off Eames!”

He pushed Dom away from Eames roughly.

“We have an _agreement_ , you fucking twat,” he added.

“That was what you meant, wasn’t it,” said Dom, “When you said you knew Eames. You meant you’d met him _years_ ago. And done more, besides!”

Arthur looked disappointedly at Eames.

“You didn’t.”

“I’m sorry.”

Dom rounded on his little brother.

“What were you thinking? You were _fifteen_!”

“Hey, I was nineteen, it wasn’t _that_ weird,” said Eames.

“Two year rule,” said Dom, “Two. Not four. Two. _Two_.”

 

“What’s it matter to you anyway?” said Arthur, “It’s my life, not yours. And your own isn’t as neat as all you make it out to be.”

“I’m looking out for you! Can’t you see? Encouraging Eames is a bad decision.”

“And shagging Mal isn’t?”

“Will you shut up about her?”

“Maybe when you shut up about Eames, I will! Fuck’s sake, Dom, he’s wooing me, not screwing me. And even if he was, no-one would care. It’s not like it’s unusual for prince to see a whore.”

“I’m not a whore!” Eames protested.

“Oh yeah, when’s the last time you had sex with someone you didn’t want to give you something?” Arthur asked.

“Never?” Eames tried.

He frowned.

“I’m a whore,” he said, as if he’d only just realised it.

“Dom, just get the fuck out,” Arthur sighed.

“Arthur, I’m a whore,” said Eames.

“You’re making a mistake,” said Dom.

“I don’t want to be a whore,” said Eames.

“I don’t really think _you_ can comment on that, can you?” said Arthur, “Now go.”

Dom glared at them both, but did as he was told.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he said ominously as he left.

“Arthur, I’m a whore.”

“Yes, I know you are. You’re also a fucking idiot but I don’t mind.”

“Does everyone know I’m a whore?”

“It’s kind of obvious. You have rather earned the title.”

Eames pouted.

“I suppose I have.”

“Why’d you tell Dom about how we met?”

“I don’t know. It just kind of slipped out.”

“You are an idiot.”

“I’m also a whore.”

“You seem to be pretty hung up about this.”

“Whore.”

Arthur smiled and ruffled his hair.

“Go to bed,” he said, and returned to his bedroom.

Eames did as he was told.

 

That night, Arthur put the wolfskin back on his bed.

 

 

“Do you think my whorishness is the reason why Arthur hasn’t made up his mind about whether or not he likes me yet?” Eames asked Yusuf the next morning, lying face down in his bed.

“Eames, for the last time, _shut up_ about being a whore. No-one cares.”

“I care.”

“That’s surprising for someone who’s been sleeping indiscriminately with the English nobility for the past four years.”

“Not to mention the Scottish nobility. And once, memorably, the Welsh.”

“Memorably?”

“Well I don’t speak Welsh, I had no idea what she was screaming at me.”

Eames looked up at Yusuf.

“Do you still love me, even though I’m a whore?”

“Don’t be silly,” said Yusuf, “You’re my employer no matter what.”

 

 

“Do you love me?” Dom asked Lady Mal the next morning, tangled up with her in bed.

“ _Quoi_?”

“ _De tu – aimez moi_?” Dom tried.

“Do I love you?” said Mal, “Why would you want to know that, Dominique?”

“Well, because we’re – together, like this.”

Mal smiled.

“Together? _Mon cher_ , we are not together. We are just, how you say, messing about.”

“Are we?”

“ _Mais oui_. It is what you want, no? A woman you can be with but are not tied to. It is fun.”

“Fun?”

“ _Oui_. Are you not enjoying yourself?”

“Well, yeah, but I mean – don’t you want more than just this? More than just messing about?”

Mal gave him a look, smoothing his hair back from his forehead.

“We cannot have more, _mon cher_. I will leave at the end of the season. We must enjoy ourselves until then. And you will find another woman to mess about with, I do not doubt.”

Dom frowned.

“Do not look so,” said Mal, kissing him lightly, “Come. I am sure I can do something to make you smile, hmm?”

 

 

Arthur was about to go for a ride with Ariadne when Eames clattered into the stableyard astride his black mare, Bridie – which was actually a shortening of her full name, Bridle of Frankenstein (Eames thought it was funny) – and dropped a dead deer at his feet. Phillip whinnied in disapproval. Arthur looked down at the deer, then up at Eames.

“What.”

“It’s a deer!”

“I know that, Eames. What I don’t know is why it isn’t still in the forest with its little deer friends.”

Eames jumped off Bridie, and Phillip leant over to sniff her.

“Because I killed it,” said Eames.

“And why did you do that?”

Eames shrugged, leaning against his horse with one hand on his hip.

“I’m just like that, you know. I’m a very strong, virile, masculine, manly – man. Sometimes I wake up and just think, ‘I’m going to kill something today’, you know?”

Arthur blinked.

“I’m a pacifist.”

“A what? It’s a man thing.”

“I am a man.”

“Yeah, but, I mean, you’re still a bit young.  You don’t yet appreciate the – urges of a man.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow.

“Urges?”

“Urges.”

“What kind of urges?”

“Urges to find your next quarry. Be it deer or wild boar – or something a little bit tastier.”

“Pheasants?”

“I meant quarry in a sexual way.”

“Jesus, what did you _do_ to that deer?”

Eames gestured towards the deer.

“I just wanted to thank you for giving my bow back to me.”

“With a dead deer?”

“Killed with my old bow,” Eames added, patting the longbow slung over his shoulder.

“Yay,” Arthur said flatly, “You killed something for me.”

Eames frowned.

“I thought you’d be more pleased.”

 

“Arthur!” Ariadne called, emerging from the stables with her little pony in tow, “Are you ready to go yet?”

She saw Eames and smiled. Then she saw the deer and stopped smiling.

“Is it alright?” she cried, letting go of her pony and running towards the deer.

“Well, it’s dead,” said Eames, frowning, “Apart from that, it’s fine.”

Arthur shot Eames a warning look.

“Maybe he’s just sleeping!” Ariadne said, kneeling beside the deer.

Arthur tugged her away from it.

“Come away. Let’s go on that ride, hmm?”

Ariadne started crying, clinging onto the deer.

“Why are you so upset?” said Eames, “You eat these things all the time.”

“Eames,” said Arthur, “Now is _not_ the time.”

“She doesn’t know?”

“I think it’s dead!” Ariadne said dismally.

“Of course it’s dead, I shot it,” Eames said.

 

Ariadne looked up at him, her eyes red with crying.

“You killed it?”

“Yes.”

“Not helping, Eames,” said Arthur.

“Murderer!” Ariadne yelled, “What did that deer ever do to you?”

“It looked tasty?”

Ariadne stared at him as if he was the embodiment of all evil in the world.

“We can’t be friends anymore! I hope Arthur marries someone else and you die of a broken heart!”

“I think you’re being a bit sensitive,” said Eames.

Arthur rolled his eyes.

“She’s a six-year-old girl, Eames, of course she’s sensitive.”

“Seven!” Ariadne corrected him.

Then she wailed and clung to her brother.

“I know you love him but he’s an evil man! He _kills_ things, Arthur! What if he killed you?”

Arthur put his arms around her comfortingly.

“Now, now. Eames is many things, but he’s not evil. You can call him a liar, or a thief, or a whore, or a twat, but not an evil man.”

“Cheers,” said Eames, who was thoroughly pissed off with the way things had turned out.

“We’re going to bury it,” said Ariadne.

“What?” Eames cried, “That’s good meat!”

“ _Eames_ ,” Arthur said through gritted teeth, “We’re burying the fucking deer.”

 

 

So they buried the fucking deer. Arthur made Eames dig a shallow grave and lay the deer in it.

“You have to say something,” said Ariadne.

“What?” asked Eames.

“Daddy told me that was what they did when mummy died. I don’t remember it, but he said they buried her and the archbishop did a service.”

“Do it,” said Arthur.

“Right,” said Eames, and looked down at the deer, wondering what the fuck he was going to say.

Arthur glared at him.

“Dearly beloved,” Eames began, “We are gathered here today to witness the burial of this deer. Um, this deer had – a good life. Ate lots of grass, played with its friends in the forest, regardless of whether they were deer or rabbits or foxes. It was very PC like that. And, er, we’re all very sad that the deer is – no longer with us. We commit its body to the ground and believe that – Jesus will resurrect it eternally? Dust to ashes – ashes to – ashes. Amen.”

“Say sorry for killing it,” said Ariadne.

“I’m not going to –”

“Apologise for killing the fucking deer, Eames,” said Arthur.

Eames sighed, relenting.

“I’m sorry for killing the deer. I didn’t realise what the consequences of my actions would be.”

“You have to bury it now,” said Ariadne, “And then we have tea and sandwiches.”

“Why don’t you run to the kitchens and get some?” said Arthur.

Ariadne narrowed her eyes at Eames.

“I don’t want to leave you alone with a murderer.”

“I’ll be fine. If he tries anything I’ll yell for Dom.”

“If you’re _sure_.”

“I am. He wants to do me, not do me in.”

“If you kill Arthur,” Ariadne told Eames ominously, “I’ll kill you.”

She ran off towards the castle with many a backwards glance.

 

“Well,” said Arthur, “You made a little girl cry. Well done.”

“I didn’t know she doesn’t know the – facts of life!”

“Oh, she knows the facts of life. She just doesn’t know that we eat animals.”

“You’d think that lesson would come before the sex one. It’s less traumatising.”

“I think Ariadne’s pretty traumatised by that,” said Arthur, gesturing towards the deer.

“She’s going to freak out when she finds out about leather.”

“I’d better get back. Ariadne will start thinking you’ve killed me.”

“So now your brother hates me mindlessly and your sister thinks I’m a murderer. Do any of your other relatives dislike me intensely?”

“Well, if it’s any help, if mum were alive, she’d hate you too.”

Eames groaned. Arthur smiled and took his hand.

“Don’t worry. I don’t hate you. I just think you’re an idiot.”

“That is the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Arthur smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

 

 

“This pie’s nice,” Arthur said that evening, as he sat eating dinner with his family, “What’s in it?”

“I think they said it was venison,” said Uther.

Arthur nearly choked on his mouthful.

 

 

“This doesn’t seem to be working,” said Eames, lounging on his bed, the tattered copy of _How to Woo Your Maiden_ in his hands.

“What do you mean?” asked Yusuf, who was busy ironing Eames’ shirts, “You’re wooing Arthur, aren’t you?”

“Yes, but none of it’s done much good. Every time I do something the book tells me to, it goes wrong. I gave Arthur an allergic reaction, he hated my poem, and Ariadne won’t even _talk_ to me anymore.”

“What does it say you have to do next?”

Eames frowned at the book.

“Something about commotions?”

Yusuf leant over and picked up the book.

“ _Competitions_ ,” he read.

“Oh.”

“Thou canst show thine maiden thine manly strength by besting other men in a tournament. Thine victory shall prove that thou art a man of valour and courage.”

He gave the book back to Eames and resumed ironing.

“Well, I don’t see how _that_ could go wrong.”

“Don’t say that! It’s bound to go horrifically wrong now and it’ll end up with me naked in a ditch with cats licking me whilst villagers pelt me with tomatoes!”

“Come on. What are the chances of that happening again?”

 

 

As it happened, Uther was holding an archery tournament in a few days’ time. Eames wasn’t sure if that was a sign that he was supposed to do this, or that his pain would be imminent and brutal. Either way, he signed himself up (well, he had Yusuf do it for him, that is what a servant’s for, after all), and went down to the training grounds to practice his aim. Being there didn’t feel the same without Ariadne. For all that she was a twerp and a cockblock, he realised he actually liked her quite a lot. She reminded him of himself when he was her age. He’d been a fucking irritating little brat too.

“She misses you too, you know.”

Eames paused, about to draw his bow back, and turned around. Arthur was there, arms crossed, watching him.

“What makes you think I miss her?”

“The fact that you just said that.”

Eames smiled wryly.

“Alright, I do miss her. There’s a gap in my life that her irritating way of pestering me to fight her and asking me awkward questions about our relationship filled.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow.

“Our relationship?”

“What term do you prefer, friendship? It can’t be a friendship if one party is in love with the other. Unless I’ve been epically friendzoned, that is.”

“You should put that on ThySpace. Relationship status: friendzoned.”

“Oh, darling,” Eames sighed overdramatically, putting one hand over his heart, “What do I have to do for you to see me in a sexual way?”

“Literally _anything_ ,” Arthur sighed.

Eames blinked.

“Did I say that out loud?” Arthur asked.

“Yeah.”

Arthur blushed, and Eames remembered why he loved him so much. God, he was getting sentimental in his old age.

 

“Come over here.”

Arthur looked unsure, but came closer. Eames handed him his longbow and pointed him towards the target boards, pressed up close behind him to put his arms in position.

“Legs apart. Keep your arm out straight.”

“This thing is fucking heavy.”

“It’s a longbow, darling, of course it’s fucking heavy,” said Eames, putting an arrow in Arthur’s hand, “Now, fit that against the string, and pull it back ‘til it’s next to your ear.”

Arthur drew the arrow back, straining at the effort.

“Fuck, my arm hurts.”

“You haven’t done anything yet.”

He covered Arthur’s hand with his own, pulling back the arrow to the right position.

“Now, line up the arrow with the centre of the target board. You got it?”

“Yeah.”

Eames let go of Arthur’s hand.

“Okay, then let go.”

Arthur loosed the arrow and it shot out, hitting the target dead centre. Eames looked at it, impressed.

“Not bad for a beginner.”

“Hey, that’s a bull’s-eye. I’m fucking _awesome_!”

“Then do it again. Without me to help you.”

Eames passed Arthur another arrow then stepped away.

“Fine,” said Arthur.

He stood in position and drew the arrow back. He wobbled a little, but corrected himself, and let go of the arrow. It landed a few millimetres away from the first arrow. Arthur gave Eames a look.

“Okay,” said Eames, “You’re fucking awesome.”

 

 

Eames spent the days leading up to the archery tournament practising, occasionally joined by Arthur. Ariadne had decided to blank him because she was a seven-year-old, and Eames had decided not to make friends with her again because he had the same level of maturity as a seven-year-old.

 

 

Ariadne crawled into Arthur’s bed the night before the tournament.

“Hey,” Arthur said sleepily, “What’s up?”

“Eames isn’t here, is he?”

“What? No. No, he’s never here. Only in his _dreams_ is he here. He will _never_ be here. The sheer quantity of his not-here-ness could be measured in gallons.”

Arthur put an arm around his little sister and she snuggled up to him.

“I miss him,” she said, “I want to be friends with him again. I don’t really think you should marry someone else. I don’t want him to die.”

“He misses you too.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. He told me. I think you two should make up maybe, hmm?”

“Hmm,” Ariadne hummed, resting her head on Arthur’s chest.

 

 

Eames was about to head out to the tournament arena when Arthur said “No you don’t,” and grabbed him.

“What’s happening?” Eames said bewilderedly as he was dragged through the castle.

“You’re going to make up with Ariadne.”

“Am I?”

“Yes! You can’t keep fighting like this.”

“She started it!”

“You’ll finish it!”

Arthur stopped at the door to Ariadne’s chambers, depositing Eames in front of it.

“Now, you’re going to go in there and make up with her.”

“But –”

“No buts, Eames. Do it.”

“But –”

“Do you love me?”

“What?”

“You’ll do it if you love me.”

“Oh great, emotional blackmail. Okay, okay, I’m doing it!” Eames sighed, going into Ariadne’s room.

 

Ariadne was sitting on a footstool by her dressing table, fixing her hair.

“Eames!” she cried angrily, “What are you doing here?”

“Um, I, I wanted to ask you something,” said Eames, crossing over to her.

Ariadne looked at him coldly.

“What is it?” she asked, with an air or regal indifference.

Eames knelt by the footstool, so he was at Ariadne’s level.

“Princess,” he said, “Today is the day of the archery tournament. I was wondering – would you be so good as to give me a favour, for luck?”

“Only if you’re sorry for killing the deer.”

“I am.”

Ariadne opened a drawer in her dressing table and took out a handkerchief bearing the royal crest.

“Here,” she said, holding it out towards him.

Eames took it.

“Does this mean we can be friends again?” he asked.

Ariadne frowned, thinking about it. Then she smiled.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

Eames smiled and hugged her.

“I’m sorry for what I said about wanting you to die,” said Ariadne.

“It’s okay, I deserved it.”

“You’d better win this tournament.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Then you should win.”

“Well, I’ll try.”

“No, you have to win.”

 

 

“Do I get a favour from you too?” Eames asked as he walked up to the arena, Arthur by his side, Ariadne holding his hand, and Yusuf trailing behind them carrying a mountain of arrows.

“I think that’s cheating,” said Arthur.

“Just to be clear, this is another attempt to woo you.”

“How will being in an archery tournament be in conducive to getting me into bed?”

“Because it will impress you with my display of manly strength, of course.”

“Of course,” Arthur said flatly.

“And if I win it’ll be in honour of you.”

“Oh, how I will swoon into your manly arms.”

“Don’t be sarcastic, darling, it doesn’t become you.”

“Shut up. You love it.”

Eames’ hand brushed against Arthur’s.

“I wish I didn’t.”

“Stop flirting and focus!” Ariadne scolded, “Do you want to win this thing or not?”

 

 

Arthur and Ariadne watched the proceedings from the royal box, with Uther and Dom. Dom technically shouldn’t have been there because it was the _royal_ box, but everyone was used to him gatecrashing things like that by now.

“Do you think Eames is going to win?” Ariadne asked.

“Oh God, he’s not there, is he?” said Dom, giving Arthur a withering look, “I _knew_ there was a reason you’d suddenly taken up an interest in archery.”

“Yeah, like how you suddenly took up an interest in French.”

“Which one is Eames?” asked Uther, straining to look at the men out in the arena.

“Over there,” said Ariadne, pointing to him.

Uther scrutinised Eames, then gave Arthur a thumbs up.

“Not bad,” he said, nodding in approval.

“Um, thanks.”

Dom exhaled audibly.

“I know love’s not about appearances, but it does help if your intended isn’t a total munter,” Uther reflected, “Your mother had great jugs.”

“Oh my _God_ , dad,” said Dom, “ _Boundaries_.”

 

Mercifully, the tournament started soon, and they didn’t have to linger on the subject of their mother’s breasts any longer. There were thirty men in the first round, and Eames got through it easily. Despite this, Ariadne was pretty tense about the whole thing.

“Get in there, my son!” she cried, “You can beat these motherfuckers!”

“Ariadne, _language_ ,” said Dom.

“Sorry. You can beat those bastards!”

Dom sighed.

“Close enough.”

 

Half of the competitors went through to the second round. The frontrunners were starting to come through now – a Lord Barton scored three bull’s-eyes, as did some blonde ponce from Gondolin, wherever the fuck that was, and Locksley wasn’t far behind. Eames wasn’t doing as well as them, but his score wasn’t at all bad.

“Come on, you beautiful bitch!” Ariadne yelled, clapping furiously.

Eames went through to the third round, along with six others. The scores were a lot closer this time. All of them were experienced archers, and Eames was facing some serious competition in the form of Barton and Locksley and the blonde ponce. Only three of the remaining seven could go through to the final round. Ariadne was practically dying. She was on the edge of her seat, her little hands curled up into fists.

“Come on, _come on_ ,” she said desperately, as Eames took up position.

He scored a perfect hit, the arrow striking the centre of the target board.

“Marry me!” Ariadne cried, flinging herself onto Arthur.

“That is wrong on so many levels,” said Dom flatly.

“Oh shut up, Dom,” said Ariadne, “You just have ants in your codpiece.”

“ _Ariadne_ ,” said Dom.

“What? That’s what Arthur says!”

“Yes, because he’s a dickbag.”

“Fuck off, Dom,” said Arthur.

“Assorted children, stop fighting,” said Uther tiredly.

“But Arthur said –” Dom began.

“That includes you, Dominick.”

“You’re not my real dad,” Dom grumbled.

Ariadne and Arthur gave him the finger when their father wasn’t looking.

Eames was doing well, but so were Locksley and blondie. Barton was looking pretty strong until he caught sight of a redheaded woman in the crowd, and got completely thrown off.

“She’s pretty,” said Ariadne, craning her neck round to look at the woman.

“Ah, the Countess,” said Uther, “Now that woman has an arse on her.”

“ _Dad!_ ” said Dom, “That’s misogynistic.”

“I say the same about men,” said Uther, “Barton’s arse isn’t bad either.”

“Oh _God_ ,” said Dom, facepalming.

 

Thanks to Barton’s slip-up, Eames, Locksley and blondie were in the final round.

“Looks like your man’s not bad at hitting the spot,” Uther told his son, with a wink.

“Dad. Stop. Just – just stop.”

“Do you think he can do it?” asked Ariadne, biting her fingernails.

“He can take the poser with girly hair,” said Arthur.

“You mean Prince Legolas of Gondolin?” said Dom tersely.

“Wow, he even sounds like a total dickhead.”

“What about Locksley?” asked Ariadne.

Arthur shook his head.

“I don’t know.”

“Oh _God_ , this is fucking _killing_ me,” Ariadne cried.

It was going to be a close call from the start. The last round went on the relative accuracy of just three shots. The first arrows all found their mark. Legolas wavered on the second shot, his arrow a few inches off centre, but Eames and Locksley were standing firm. It would all go on the last shot.

“I can’t watch,” Ariadne squeaked, her hands clamped over her eyes.

Arthur felt an anxious knot in his stomach, which was ridiculous, because the outcome of this tournament really _didn’t_ matter, he didn’t care if Eames won, it wasn’t important, except it was to Ariadne and it was to Eames, and he wanted this for them. He squeezed Ariadne’s shoulder. Eames, Legolas and Locksley drew back their arrows, and fired. And Eames missed. Only by a few inches, but that was all it took. Locksley’s arrow had hit its mark.

 

“What happened?” asked Ariadne desperately, still covering her eyes, “What happened?”

“Locksley’s won,” said Dom, a little too enthusiastically.

“ _What_?!” Ariadne cried, opening her eyes, “That’s out of order! Call the ref!”

“That’s just the way it goes sometimes,” Arthur said soothingly, rubbing her back, “Someone has to win. It can’t always be the person you want.”

“Yes it can!”

Ariadne climbed onto Arthur and buried her face in his shirt.

“It’s so unfair,” she grumbled.

“Ssh, it’s okay,” said Arthur.

Dom smirked quietly to himself.

“Stop looking so fucking smug, you twat,” said Arthur.

Dom pulled a face.

“It’s not my fault if your boyfriend’s a shit archer.”

“It’s not my fault if I bash your head in with a blunt instrument.”

Arthur saw Eames look up towards them and mouth, “Sorry.” Arthur shook his head.

“It’s fine,” he mouthed back.

Eames pointed to Ariadne, who was curled up in a ball on Arthur’s lap.

“She okay?” he mouthed.

Arthur held out his hand palm down and waggled it from side to side.

“So-so,” he mouthed.

Eames put his hands in the shape of a heart. Arthur laughed, leaning down to say to Ariadne, “Eames says he loves us.”

“Eames is dead to me,” said Ariadne.

Arthur looked down at Eames and pulled a face.

“Not very happy,” he mouthed, shaking his head.

“Get a _room_ ,” said Dom.

 

 

“Well,” Eames said resignedly as he and Yusuf left the arena, “That went well.”

“Come on, you came second,” said Yusuf, smirking, “You’re used to that.”

“You have a dirty mind, my friend.”

“I have a dirty employer.”

Eames jangled the small purse in his hand.

“At least I’ve got a few quid.”

“Ah, the two things that motivate Sir Eames of Zenith,” said Yusuf, “Money and cock.”

“You are a cruel, cruel man.”

Eames sighed.

“So wooing attempt number four has crashed and burned, along with all the others.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” said Yusuf, nodding towards Ariadne and Arthur, who were heading their way.

Ariadne practically _launched_ herself onto Eames.

“ _Oof_ ,” said Eames, pulling her up off the ground into a hug, “You alright, beautiful?”

“You were _awesome_ ,” said Ariadne fiercely, her arms around Eames’ neck, “I want Locksley to _die_.”

“You do rather deal in absolutes, don’t you?”

“She wanted you dead earlier, so think yourself lucky,” said Arthur.

“I am slightly concerned that you could be ruling the country one day,” Eames told the little girl, setting her back down on the ground.

“It worries us all,” said Arthur.

“Hey, I’m going to be an _awesome_ queen,” said Ariadne, taking Eames’ hand and leading him back towards the castle.

“I’m sure you will,” said Eames, “Just hold off of the executions.”

“I’ll only execute them if they deserve it.”

“I fear for your subjects.”

Arthur laughed and gave Eames’ hand a quick squeeze. Eames liked it when he did that. It was almost like he loved him.

 

 

“So, what do I have to do next?” asked Eames.

Yusuf looked down at _How to Woo Your Maiden_.

“There’s just one chapter left.”

Eames leant over his shoulder and read the title.

“ _Meringue_?” he said.

“ _Marriage_ ,” Yusuf corrected.

“Oh, marriage. Wait, _marriage_?!”

“That’s what it says.”

“But Arthur’s not even wooed yet! I can’t propose to him! He’s not ready! I don’t even know if he likes me!”

Yusuf shrugged.

“That’s all the book has to say. You’re on your own now. You’re just going to have to use your charm and wit.”

Eames groaned.

“I’m done for.”

Yusuf patted him on the shoulder.

“Come on. Everything’s gone horrifically wrong already. Look on the bright side. How could it get any worse?”


	4. Part Three: You Can Scale My Battlements Anyday

“Da-ad?”

“Oh, I know that tone of voice. What do you want?”

Arthur looked down, standing awkwardly in the doorway of his father’s chambers.

“Can I come in?”

Uther swivelled around in his office chair to face Arthur, stroking an invisible cat.

“I’ve been expecting you.”

“ _Dad_.”

“Sorry. I’ve wanted to do that for ages. What is it?”

“I just wanted to talk to you.”

“Ooh, having a talk. Sounds serious. You’d better sit down.”

Uther gestured to the chair beside his desk, and Arthur sat down.

“Is this about sex? Because you’ve come to the right place if so. Not to brag, but there’s not much your papa don’t know about getting –”

“It’s not about sex,” Arthur said quickly.

“Shame. So what is it about?”

“You know that talk we had before?”

“The one about wanking?”

“That was years ago, dad.”

“Well, it was your fault for getting spunk on that wolfskin. Washed off pretty well, though.”

 

“I meant the talk we had like a few days ago? About Eames?”

“Oh! I remember, you’re in love with a knight that Dom hates. Or thinking about it. How have you got on with that?”

“When we had that talk, you said something about mum.”

“Yes?”

“When did you know? That you loved her. How could you be sure?”

Uther shrugged.

“I don’t know. I just – _did_. Everything was different with her. I wanted to be with her all the time. I didn’t want to look at anyone else, ever. And I didn’t want her to look at anyone else either. I wanted to have her all to myself, always. And I felt that way for years. I still love her now. At least, I think that’s what love is. If not, it’s close to it.”

Arthur nodded slowly.

“Thanks, dad,” he said, and got up.

“Is that everything you wanted to know?” asked Uther, “Nothing about sex positions? It might come in useful.”

“Nope, that was everything.”

“Okay. Well, go get ‘em, tiger.”

“Bye, dad.”

Uther swivelled back round to his computer and updated his ThySpace status to _My kids are having more sex than me. #ProudFather_

 

 

“I don’t know what to do,” Eames sighed, “Maybe he likes me, maybe he doesn’t. I know _I_ like him, but that’s not the same. What do you think?”

Eames’ black mare whinnied in response.

“You’re right, Bridie,” said Eames, and continued brushing her, “I should just talk to him.”

Bridie whickered quietly.

“Don’t tease me,” said Eames, “You yourself may one day be caught in the throes of love.”

Bridie looked over to the next stall, where Phillip was.

“Oh, really? I didn’t know he was your type.”

Bridie headbutted Eames.

“Hey! No, no, I mean, he is a fine stallion. I was just a little surprised, is all.”

The mare whinnied and headbutted him again.

“Arthur is not a toyboy!”

Bridie shook her head.

“Baby, don’t be like that. You know I love you most.”

Eames stroked her muzzle.

“You’re my lovely girl, aren’t you? Yes you are.”

 

“Am I interrupting something?”

Eames nearly jumped out of his own skin.

“Jesus _Christ_ , Arthur!”

Arthur laughed, leaning over the stable door.

“How much have you heard?” asked Eames.

“Enough to make me sufficiently jealous.”

“It was just a fling,” said Eames, coming over to Arthur, “It doesn’t mean anything.”

Bridie neighed reproachfully.

“I don’t think she agrees,” said Arthur.

“She doesn’t love me anymore. She has a thing for Phillip now. We’re over.”

Bridie walked over and nibbled Eames’ shoulder.

“Alright, you silly thing,” said Eames, kissing the side of her face, “I love you. And Arthur too. But in very different ways.”

Arthur smiled at Eames, and it was simple and real and full of promise.

 

“Sorry,” said Eames, “Did you accidentally stumble across my secret affair with Bridie, or did you want to see me?”

“Oh, I always want to see you, Eames.”

“Well, you’re only human.”

Arthur reached out for Eames’ hand and brought it to his lips.

“I am,” he said, and kissed each finger in turn.

“Arthur,” Eames breathed.

Arthur looked up at him.

“Arthur, you know I –”

And that was when Bridie got bored and headbutted Eames for attention.

“Shit!” Eames cried, jumping, “Jesus, Bridie, _timing_!”

Bridie neighed angrily.

“You have really got to get over your jealousy issues,” Eames told her.

Arthur facepalmed.

“Sorry,” said Eames.

“It’s fine. It’s just bloody typical. I finally cave and come to you and your horse cockblocks me before I can tell you I want you.”

“Sorry about her. Wait, what, did you just say you _want_ me?”

“Shit, I did.”

“Right. Okay. Um. Good.”

“Maybe you should – come over here?”

Arthur unlatched the stable door and Eames came out of the stall, shooting Bridie a warning look as he shut the door behind him.

“Right. Go on?” said Eames.

 

“Can you – I want – can you just hold me?”

Eames nodded and wrapped his arms around Arthur, pulling him close.

“I missed you so fucking much,” Arthur said, his breath hot against Eames’ neck.

“I missed you too.”

“I’ve never wanted anyone like this. Fuck, Eames, it’s been a long time, and I always – always hoped, that someday, somehow, you’d find me again. You were like an ache that never went away. And I can’t – _Eames_ –”

“Stop talking,” said Eames, and kissed him.

Arthur’s eyes fell shut and his mouth fell open, and Eames kissed him, gentle as the first time he’d ever touched him. He pressed his open palms to Arthur’s back, pushing their bodies together, holding Arthur tightly. Arthur pulled away and smiled, sweet and easy, and slowly ran his hands up and down Eames’ upper arms, holding him there.

“We should probably stop making out in the stables,” he said.

“Yeah. Bit weird with an audience. I feel like they’re all silently judging us. Still, it’d be worse if they were enjoying it.”

Eames knew he was rambling, because Arthur had short-circuited his brain with a kiss and he was so done for.

“That’s not to say,” Arthur said slowly, “We can’t make out somewhere else.”

He gave Eames a significant look.

“Er, you,” Eames stammered, “You want to –”

“Yes.”

“Right now?”

“Yes.”

Eames sighed.

“But I want to be an honourable knight, for you.”

“But I want you to be a dirty huntsman, for tonight.”

Eames groaned, feeling his resolve slip away.

“Eames,” said Arthur, “Listen to me, because I’m not going to say this again. I want you to take me to bed and do the things you think about doing to me when you touch yourself.”

Eames didn’t need to be told twice.

 

 

He was on Arthur before he’d even shut his bedroom door, kissing him feverishly, hands digging into his narrow hips. Arthur snaked a hand around Eames’ neck and bolted the door with his free hand, letting Eames press him up against the hard wood. (In more ways than one.)

“You ever done this before?” Eames asked, running his hands up the sides of Arthur’s torso.

“No. It’s just you.”

“Shit, Arthur,” said Eames, and kissed him.

“Fuck,” Arthur breathed as Eames kissed down his neck, biting and sucking at the pale skin there. Arthur arched up into Eames’ mouth, groaning as Eames’ hot tongue grazed his skin. He fisted a hand in Eames’ hair and dragged him up to kiss him again, sloppy and wet, his breaths shallow and fast. Eames pressed his hand down the plane of Arthur’s chest, slipping lower, pressing up against his cock through his trousers.

“Oh, _oh_ ,” Arthur whimpered into Eames’ mouth, “Shit.”

Eames gripped him harder, fingers flexing, and Arthur moaned again.

“As much as I’d like to fuck you against the door,” said Eames, “The bed is traditional for a reason.”

Arthur’s mouth didn’t seem to be able to form words anymore – typical Arthur, the only way to get him to stop talking was to give him a good fucking – and he just let Eames pull him over to his bed, stumbling because somewhere along the line his legs had decided to give up. He sat down heavily in the middle of the bed, putting his hands down behind him to brace himself as Eames leant over and kissed him, tipping his head back, shoving his tongue down into his mouth. Arthur’s hands twisted and grabbed at the thick fur of the wolfskin underneath him.

 

He reached out a hand and took hold of Eames’ wrist, pulling his hand down to touch the wolfskin.

“It’s the wolf you killed,” he said.

“Have you had it on your bed all this time?”

“Yeah. Sometimes I – I touch it and think about you.”

“ _Shit_. That’s – fuck.”

Eames kissed Arthur as he pressed him down into the bed, heavy on top of him. He laced their fingers together, stretched Arthur’s hands out behind him on the bed, leaving him open and exposed.

“What do you think about?” he asked.

“You. Kissing me. Touching me.”

“What else? Did you think about me fucking you? Hmm?”

Eames kissed down Arthur’s neck, nipping him gently.

“Did you think about me shoving my cock into you? Did you think about screaming like a fucking whore under me? Did you?”

“ _Fuck_. Yeah. Yeah. All the time.”

Eames ground his hips down into Arthur’s, and it was all Arthur could do to groan, raw and open.

“Shit. _Eames_. I’m gonna –”

“I got you,” said Eames, and let go of one of Arthur’s hands, moving his hand down, slipping into Arthur’s trousers, wrapping his fingers around his cock and pulling him off.

“Fuck, _fuck_ , oh God, _fuck_ ,” Arthur garbled, not caring that he sounded like a whore (and one with rather uncreative swearing at that) because Eames’ hand was on his cock and everything was fucking wonderful.

He came screaming his fucking lungs out, which would have been embarrassing if Eames hadn’t groaned like he had never been so turned on. Eames stroked him through it, murmuring words of encouragement against his neck that Arthur couldn’t hear because he was screaming so much. He was panting when it was over, his chest heaving, his throat raw.

 

“Uh, sorry,” Arthur mumbled, dropping his head back against the bed, “I should’ve –”

“Fuck, don’t _apologise_ , darling. _Never_ apologise. There’s nothing you should or shouldn’t do. I’ll love all of it. I love everything that’s you.”

Eames took his hand out from Arthur’s trousers, dripping wet.

“Can I?” Arthur asked, looking at it.

“Anything,” said Eames, and covered Arthur’s mouth with his hand, come smearing over his face.

Arthur licked Eames’ palm clean, then sucked his broad fingers into his mouth, each in turn, nearly choking as he took them in down to the knuckle, grazing them lightly with his teeth.

“ _Jesus_ , Arthur,” said Eames, licking the come off from around Arthur’s mouth, “Uh, clothes. Why are we still wearing clothes?”

“Because you’re a fuckwit.”

Eames chuckled and moved up off him, kicking off his trousers and dropping them onto the floor.

“I don’t believe in underwear,” Eames said by means of explanation, as Arthur pushed himself up into a sitting position and tried to look anywhere that wasn’t Eames’ crotch, because Eames was kneeling on the bed, legs apart, his cock exposed.

“Uh,” said Arthur, staring, “That’s – can you – you’re kind of big.”

Eames reached over and took his hand, pulling him closer.

“You’ll be fine, darling. I’m going to take care of you. Okay?”

Arthur nodded, still a little unsure.

“Okay.”

 

“Come here,” said Eames, and Arthur climbed into his lap, legs either side of Eames’, folded underneath him.

Eames took off his shirt, throwing it behind him onto the floor, and leant forward to kiss Arthur, taking Arthur’s hands and pressing them to his bare chest. Arthur was hesitant, his fingers soft and slow against Eames’ skin, the feel of him so unfamiliar and new. Eames let out a quiet “mm,” in encouragement, leaning up into Arthur’s touch. He moved back and pulled Arthur’s shirt up over his head, but Arthur looked down, embarrassed, folding his arms across his chest.

“You’re fucking hot,” said Eames, and his voice was so low and reverent that Arthur knew he believed it.

He took hold of Arthur’s hands and put them on his hips, and Arthur rubbed his thumbs against Eames’ hipbones. Eames bent down to kiss Arthur’s naked chest, lick his nipples, run his tongue down his stomach.

“ _Shit_ ,” Arthur breathed, his hands moving up to touch Eames’ back, feeling the knots of his spine, the movement of his muscles.

Eames came up to kiss Arthur’s mouth again, his hands moving down the back of Arthur’s trousers, hot as he squeezed his arse.

“ _Oh_. You know, I’ve been wanting to do that for ages,” he admitted.

“I bet you have,” said Arthur, pressing their mouths together, slow and wet.

“Do you have any –?”

“Yeah,” said Arthur, leaning over to his bedside table, opening the drawer and scrabbling for lube and a condom, “They, er, mysteriously turned up after dad found out about you. I wasn’t being presumptuous.”

Eames smiled.

“You can presume all you like,” he said, pushing Arthur’s trousers down.

 

Arthur wriggled out of his trousers and pants, pushing them onto the floor. He blushed, embarrassed at being so exposed in front of Eames. The fact that they were both naked made him feel awkward and hot and nervous and turned on at once.

“Hey,” said Eames, running a hand down Arthur’s arm and raking his eyes over him, “Don’t be shy. You’re fucking hot.”

Arthur smiled.

“You’re not so bad yourself.”

“Careful,” said Eames, nipping at Arthur’s jaw, “That was dangerously close to a compliment.”

Arthur put his hands on Eames’ shoulders, holding him where he was, and Eames smiled, coating his fingers with lube.

“Er. Right,” said Arthur, looking at them uncertainly.

“You’re going to be fine,” said Eames, reaching underneath Arthur, pressing two fingers to his entrance, “Trust me. I’ve done this enough times.”

“You fucking slut – _ahh_.”

Arthur bit his lip hard as Eames pressed a slick finger inside him.

“You okay?” Eames asked.

Arthur nodded tightly, gasping when Eames added a second finger.

“ _Jesus_ ,” Arthur breathed, his head falling onto Eames’ shoulder.

Eames stroked the side of Arthur’s face with his free hand.

“There. My good darling.”

“Keep going. _Fuck_.”

The next finger made Arthur scream, his hands gripping onto Eames’ shoulders tight enough to bruise.

“Okay?” Eames asked gently, working his fingers in and out.

“I’m fucking _dying,_ Eames. _Shit_. Fuck me. Now.”

Eames nodded, pulling his fingers out to put the condom on and lube himself up. As much as he hated physicians, he was really going to have to get himself checked out. It was stupid, really – in any other situation, he wasn’t at all worried about getting his cock out.

“ _Eames_ ,” Arthur said impatiently, pushing himself forwards so they were chest to chest.

 

“Okay,” said Eames soothingly, putting his hands under Arthur’s arse and pulling him up, “I got you.”

Arthur bit into Eames’ shoulder as Eames slowly lowered him onto his cock, a few screams escaping from his throat. It felt like he was being split open from the inside.

“You’re alright, darling,” Eames murmured, his breaths hard and hot against Arthur’s neck as he sank fully into him.

They didn’t move for a moment, just breathing hard, chests heaving against each other.

“Do you want to – you want to move now?” Eames asked.

Arthur started moving, his hips rocking forward slowly, his cock grinding against Eames’ stomach, gasping and whimpering.

“Shit,” Eames breathed, and his hips jerked up.

Arthur screamed then, because Eames had hit something inside him he didn’t even know _existed_.

“There?” asked Eames, pushing himself up again.

Arthur couldn’t do anything apart from scream, eyes watering, as Eames drove into him again and again.

“Fuck, I’m gonna, oh, _Eames_ –”

Eames kissed him, uncoordinated and full of tongue, but Arthur could only pant into his mouth, too far gone.

“Come on, darling, there, I love you, come on,” Eames murmured, his hips snapping up hard.

Arthur screamed even louder this time he came, raw and open, his fingernails digging into Eames’ back, his come smearing over Eames’ stomach. His ears rang and he collapsed against Eames and he didn’t even know if he was still screaming anymore. Eames pulled him into a fierce kiss, and Arthur was too exhausted to kiss him back, too exhausted to do anything but lie against Eames as he kept driving up into him, unrelenting.

“Eames, I _can’t_ …” he whimpered.

“You can, darling, you’re good, you’re _so_ good…”

Arthur whined, exhausted and boneless against Eames, and Eames kissed him, his hands either side of Arthur’s head, and came, groaning low and broken.

“Fuck, Arthur, _Arthur_ ,” he said, his hips slowing.

 

Eventually, he stopped moving, and wrapped his arms around Arthur, sweaty and hot and ridiculously fucked-out.

“I love you,” he said quietly, “Fuck, I love you.”

He rubbed circles into Arthur’s back, slow and soothing, and Arthur whimpered, utterly spent.

“Ssh,” said Eames, “Hey. You okay?”

“Mmm,” Arthur mumbled against his chest.

He would say something more eloquent, but he’d just been fucked within an inch of his life and now he didn’t think he’d ever be able to move again.

“Okay,” said Eames, and moved away, pulling out of Arthur and lying him down on the bed gently.

Arthur murmured something indistinct as Eames moved away from him, missing the contact.

“I’m here,” Eames reassured him, pulling the bedsheets over him, “I’m right here, darling.”

Arthur curled up on his side and soon Eames spooned up behind him, pressing their bodies together, holding Arthur close, like he would never leave.

“Sleep well, darling,” Eames murmured.

Arthur fell asleep in his arms.

 

 

Eames woke up the next morning and felt the weight of Arthur against his front, the steady rhythm of his chest rising and falling under his hand, the press of Arthur’s legs against his own. And then he was flooded with happiness. Arthur – his Arthur, his darling Arthur – wanted him back. Eames smiled at the memory of last night. It had just felt _right_ , being with Arthur like that, in a way it never had done with anyone else. He’d never _wanted_ someone so much. And now he had him. And as well as the whole emotional thing last night had been pretty fucking hot.

 

Arthur woke up the next morning and felt the weight of Eames against his back, the steady rhythm of Eames’ breath against his neck, the press of Eames’ hand against his stomach. And then he was flooded with fear. What in God’s name had he been _thinking_? Now he’d given Eames what he wanted, what he’d _always_ wanted, there was nothing for him to stay for. He might just leave today, and never come back. He might stay a little longer, see how many times he could sleep with Arthur before he got bored. Arthur cursed himself for being so bloody fucking _stupid_.

“I blame you,” he told his cock, “You started this.”

 

“Hmm?” Eames murmured, kissing the back of Arthur’s neck lazily.

“Oh. Hey,” said Arthur, deciding that he really did need to stop talking to his cock now.

“Hey. You okay?”

“Mmm.”

“Yeah?” Eames asked, leaning over to suck on Arthur’s earlobe.

Arthur shuddered and Eames sucked harder, running his tongue behind Arthur’s ear, down the line of his jaw.

“You’re fucking amazing, you know that,” Eames said lowly, “Turn around.”

Arthur shifted slowly and turned to face him. Eames leant their foreheads together, curled his hand around the back of Arthur’s neck.

“I love you,” he said.

Arthur smiled slowly, the belief not quite reaching his eyes. Eames pursed his lips, then rolled on top of Arthur, pinning him down with a kiss. Arthur laughed.

“ _Eames_! Get off me.”

“No,” Eames said petulantly, teasing Arthur’s mouth open with his tongue, “Never. I have you in my clutches now.”

“You are ridiculous, Sir Eames.”

“You are worse, Prince Arthur.”

Eames just looked down at Arthur for a long moment, like he was drinking him in. It felt like being loved.

“Arthur…” he began, “I wanted to ask you –”

 

Then there was a knock at the door.

“Go away, Dom!” Arthur yelled.

“No!” Dom yelled back.

“Shit,” said Eames under his breath, and scrabbled off the bed, falling over in his haste, taking most of the sheets with him.

“I’m sleeping!” Arthur shouted, yanking the sheets up off the floor and over him.

“It’s nearly midday!”

Eames grabbed his clothes from where they were haphazardly sprawled on the floor, nearly falling over again as he yanked his trousers back on.

“Five more minutes!” Arthur yelled, trying to straighten out the sheets so it wouldn’t look like he’d had rampant sex last night.

“Don’t think I won’t bash this door down!” said Dom.

“Nope, I’m still thinking you won’t,” Arthur replied, while furiously gesturing to Eames that he get out now via the balcony.

Eames pulled his shirt on, then dashed over to kiss Arthur, quick and hard.

“Go!” Arthur whispered urgently.

“Is Eames with you?” Dom yelled, “Is that it?”

“Eames?” said Arthur casually, as the man in question was running over to the balcony, hair mussed,  shirt falling out, carrying his boots.

“Yeah, you know,” said Dom, “The guy who’s been desperate to bang you for the last four years?”

“I haven’t seen him since the tournament,” Arthur replied.

He winced as he heard the sound of something heavy falling from a height outside. Or, in more accurate terms, he winced as he heard the sound of Eames falling off the wall outside. There was a tiny whimper of “ _Aaaah_.”

“Don’t play the innocent with me!” Dom shouted, “I’m coming in!”

Arthur rolled his eyes as he heard Dom throwing himself against the door. It seemed the men in his life were all physically injuring themselves this morning.

“That thing is solid wood, you know,” Arthur said tiredly.

 

“Fuck that!” Dom yelled, and the door flew open.

Dom crashed onto the floor, the door swinging back and slamming into the wall. Arthur blinked, unimpressed.

“Well done, Dom. You’ve just managed to break my door with the force of your rage.”

Dom glowered at him as he got up, brushing the dust from his clothes.

“You were with Eames last night. I know you were.”

“How?”

“The screaming was a bit of a giveaway.”

Arthur blushed furiously, because yeah, he had screamed quite a bit.

“You know what, Dom, this is none of your fucking business. Even if I was screwing Eames every night, it’d still be none of your fucking business. And if I remember correctly, we have an agreement.”

“ _Fuck_ the agreement.”

“What?”

“I don’t care anymore. Mal doesn’t love me. She thinks I’m just a bit of fun.”

“Oh. So she’s your bone ami?”

“What? No! She’s nothing to me anymore. I can’t be with someone that doesn’t love me. And she doesn’t.”

“Oh well,” said Arthur cheerfully.

 

“I don’t see what you’re so happy about. You’re in the same situation. Eames doesn’t give a shit about you, Arthur.”

“He _does_ ,” said Arthur fiercely, but he wasn’t really that sure.

He _wanted_ Eames to love him. He wanted it more than anything. But wanting something wasn’t the same as having it.

“No, he fucking doesn’t,” said Dom, crossing over to Arthur and pointing at him angrily, “He’s going to say whatever he has to say to get you, and then he’s going to leave you.”

“You’re just jealous because no-one loves you,” said Arthur, turning over onto his side, facing away from Dom.

“Is that what he’s he told you, Arthur? That he loves you? Do you _really_ believe that?”

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut tightly.

“Shut up.”

“You don’t really, do you? You know that what I’m saying is true. You know he’s just using you. You’ve always known. You just hoped that maybe you were wrong. You just hoped that maybe he loves you, that maybe he’ll stay. But he’s not going to, Arthur. He’s not.”

Arthur drew in a shaky breath, trying to stave off the inevitable tears until he could get Dom to leave him the fuck alone.

“I hate you,” he said, his voice low and vicious, “I _hate_ you.”

He couldn’t say anything more, just pressed his face into the pillow and cried quietly, his arms wrapped around himself.

“I’m going to fucking _kill_ Eames,” Dom said savagely, and stormed off.

Arthur curled himself up on his side, and cried, and cried.

 

 

“And just where do you think you’ve been, young man?” Yusuf demanded the minute Eames stumbled back to his chambers.

“Please don’t be angry with me,” said Eames, scrunching his face up in fear.

“I am very angry with you!” Yusuf bellowed.

Eames shrunk back against the wall.

“I was worried _sick_ about you! I wait up for you, then when you don’t come back by _past midnight_ , I go down to the stables to find you, and Bridie says you’ve buggered off somewhere with some posh twat! So, where were you?”

“I was with Arthur.”

“Where with Arthur?”

“His bedroom.”

“Oh yes, and what could you _possibly_ be doing with Arthur in his bedroom that was so entertaining you didn’t come home?”

Eames raised his eyebrows. Yusuf frowned.

“Hang on. Does that mean you guys finally got your freak on?”

Eames grinned.

“Oh yeah.”

“Get in!” cried Yusuf, high-fiving him, “Give me some sugar, babydoll!”

Eames laughed and Yusuf hugged him, slapping him on the back.

“Not bad after four years of foreplay,” said Yusuf, pointing finger guns at him, “I take it you boys had fun?”

Eames groaned, running a hand over his face.

“You have no idea. He screamed so much. Hnng. Yes.”

“So what now? Have you, you know?”

“No. I was going to ask him, but then I had to run ‘cause Dom started screaming the door down. That man is a ball of pure rage. Trust me, you do _not_ want him banging on your door.”

“I pray to God he never will.”

 

“ _Eames_!” came a furious voice from outside.

“You have failed me,” said Yusuf, looking heavenward.

“Let me in!” Dom cried.

Eames took a deep breath and went to the door. It swung open with Dom attached to it before he could open it. Eames froze, his hand hovering where the doorknob used to be.

“I was literally _just_ about to open it.”

Dom squinted furiously at Eames, shoving him up against the wall.

“I know what you did to my little brother,” he said darkly.

“Oh really, what might that be?”

“You know perfectly well what that might be.”

Eames frowned, as if in thought.

“No, it’s not coming.”

“Well Arthur was last night. Repeatedly.”

“I don’t know why you’re so angry about this. Do you have something against multiple orgasms?”

“I have something against _you_ , Eames. I have for a long time.”

“I think this is infringing the terms of our agreement, Dom, don’t you?”

“The agreement’s over. This is over. You and Arthur are over. Get it?”

“I’m not sure, maybe you could use the word ‘over’ more.”

Dom pushed Eames back against the wall, hard.

“Sir Eames of Zenith. I, Dominick Cobb, Duke of Croydon, challenge you to a duel.”

“Oh, so _that’s_ what you’re Duke of. Hang on, _what_?”

“To the death. Meet me in the courtyard in an hour. I will fight for my brother’s honour.”

“Then I will fight for his love.”

“Don’t quote Cheryl Cole at me,” said Dom, and stalked off.

“Shit,” said Eames, sliding down the wall, “ _Shit_. Shitting bollocking fuckwank.”

“Look on the bright side,” said Yusuf, “At least I didn’t clean your armour for nothing.”

 

 

Quite a crowd had gathered in the courtyard by the time Dom and Eames arrived. Eames searched the crowd for Arthur’s face, but there was a crush of people and he couldn’t make him out. It would have been nice to see him one last time before Dom hacked him into tiny pieces, he thought as he put his helmet on. Yusuf patted his master on the back.

“You get him, big boy.”

“Cheers, mate,” said Eames.

“I’ve bet a tenner that you’ll win.”

“Only a tenner?”

“My faith in you can only go so far. Anyway, the odds against you are seventy to one, so I’ll win loads anyway.”

“Oh, great,” said Eames, and walked towards his opponent, palms open.

Dom scowled at him.

“We don’t have to do this,” Eames said, because he would actually like to live.

“It took fucking ages to get this armour on,” said Dom.

“Come on, Dom. You don’t want to fight me.”

“No, actually, I really fucking do.”

A low murmur of “Fight, fight, fight,” started among the crowd, rising to a chant.

“You’re really not helping here, guys,” Eames told them, as Dom put his visor down and drew his sword.

He sighed and followed suit.

“This isn’t going to end well,” he muttered to himself.

 

Dom struck first, attacking fast and angry, uncoordinated enough that Eames could parry each blow. He lunged out towards Dom, but his sword glanced off his breastplate ineffectually, and Dom took advantage of his outstretched arm to nick the inside of his elbow, where his armour was weak.

“Shit,” Eames swore, pulling his arm back, because he was pretty sure there was a major vein there, and that was his right arm, which was very useful for doing a number of things, including holding a sword.

It was all he could do to parry against Dom, his arm weak and his sword heavy. All in all, things were going Very Not Well, and they were only going to get Much Worse if he didn’t buck up his ideas soon, because Dom was going to fucking kill him. So Eames gritted his teeth and hit back. He was bigger than Dom, heavier, and his sword hit hard against Dom’s body, throwing him off-balance. Eames flipped his sword around, hitting the visor of Dom’s helmet hard with the pommel. Dom stumbled and Eames brought his sword down on his chest, sending him flying backwards. The crowd cheered as Eames stood over Dom, his sword pointed at his neck.

“Finish him off!” someone from the crowd yelled.

“I’m not killing him,” Eames replied.

“No,” said Dom, “No, you have to.”

“Dom, you are a prick, but I am a knight. I won’t hit a man when he’s down. Also I want to get on your brother and I think it might make things awkward between us if I killed you.”

 

“Do not touch him!” a furious voice yelled.

Lady Mal burst through the crowd and stood over Dom fiercely, scowling at Eames.

“If you want to kill Dominique, you must kill me first!”

“I’m not killing _anybody_ ,” Eames sighed, “Anyway, I thought you guys broke up?”

“Mal!” Dom cried, “You saved me.”

“Well, actually –” Eames began, but Mal cut him off.

“Of course I did, Dominique. I would not see you beaten by this great oaf.”

“Yeah, cheers, love,” said Eames, as Mal helped Dom to his feet.

He winced as he sheathed his sword, his arm still pretty painful. The crowd booed, disappointed that no-one was dead, but their mood improved when Mal took off Dom’s helmet and kissed him.

“Wish I had someone to do that to me,” Eames muttered as he took off his helmet.

Yusuf came over to him.

“Not really what I was picturing,” Eames reflected.

“Are you alright?” asked Yusuf.

“Okay. Dom got me in the arm. Hurts like a bitch. Should be okay, though.”

“I’ll have to take a look at it.”

“Okay,” said Eames, and then three things happened.

First, a guard from the nearby tower raised a shout. Second, the men on top of the keep raised a red flag. Third, the deep, insistent clang of a bell sounded. Whatever that meant, it was definitely Not Good.

“O- _kay_ ,” said Eames, “What – what does that mean?”

“It means war,” said Dom grimly.

“ _War_? But I thought this was peacetime?”

“So did I.”

“Look on the bright side,” said Yusuf, “At least you’ve already got your armour on.”

 

 

“Dad! What’s happening?” Dom cried, his armour clunking as he jogged into the Great Hall, Arthur not far behind him.

The king was surrounded by his advisors, who were all looking distinctly grim.

“Where have you been?” he asked Arthur, “I haven’t seen you since yesterday afternoon.”

“I – was in bed,” Arthur said.

Dom raised his eyebrows.

“That’s one way of putting it,” he said.

“Shut up! Anyway, that doesn’t matter. What the fuck’s going on?”

“It’s King Saito of Caerleon,” said Uther gravely, “None of us saw him coming. He’s been expanding his empire for years, grabbing land from all over Albion. Camelot has always been safe, protected by the kingdoms around us, but last night, Bayard’s kingdom fell. Saito is marching on Camelot. He will be here by nightfall.”

Arthur felt something settle in his stomach that felt a lot like fear.

“What can we do?” asked Dom.

“Dom, you lead the knights. We’ll need them out on the ground, ready to attack the enemy first. Arthur, you go with the men on the first wall. Find the best archers you can. We must do everything we can to stop them getting in. Camelot will not be taken easily. She is an impregnable fortress, not a common whore.”

Dom and Arthur nodded, turning to leave the Great Hall.

“You’re a fucking dick,” said Arthur as they walked out, “I hope Saito’s men beat the shit out of you.”

“I was only trying to protect you.”

“Yeah, well it’s a bit late for that.”

Dom clamped a heavy, armoured hand on Arthur before he could leave.

“Arthur, take care of yourself. This is dangerous.”

“Oh really? I didn’t know that. I thought a war was just something you went into without thinking. You know, like challenging someone to a duel?”

Dom rolled his eyes.

“If you let Eames get hurt, I’m going to fucking murder you,” said Arthur, “And no-one will know it was me. They’ll just assume you’re a casualty of war.”

“Arthur, Eames _used_ you. Why do you even care about him?”

“I’ve _always_ cared. Ever since I met him. I can’t stop. There’s not a switch over my heart that I can just turn off and I won’t give a shit anymore.”

“For someone who only cares about nutella and sleeping, that’s pretty deep.”

Dom sighed and shook his head.

“He doesn’t deserve you, Arthur.”

Arthur thought about the way Eames had saved him the night they met, the things he’d done to try and prove he truly loved him, the way he’d been last night, gentle and caring, how he’d kissed him this morning. Eames had told Arthur he’d loved him seven times. Arthur had never said it back.

“I think he does,” Arthur said.

Dom smiled grimly.

“I’ll make sure he’s alright. For your sake. Not his.”

He stepped closer and pressed a kiss to Arthur’s forehead.

“In spite of everything, I still love you.”

“Yeah, I still think you’re a dick.”

 

 

“You know the drill, old girl,” said Eames as he saddled Bridie, wincing as he stretched out his hastily-bandaged arm to put the saddle on, “We’ve been in enough scraps together by now, haven’t we?”

Bridie swished her tail.

“I’ll call you old if I like. You deserve it, telling tales on me to Yusuf like that.”

The mare neighed pompously.

“Easy! That ‘posh toyboy’ happens to be the love of my life,” said Eames, tightening the girth.

Bridie whinnied.

“Well, _of course_ I’ve never liked anyone as much as him. That’s the whole concept of the love of your life. You only get one. And you love them more than anything else.”

Bridie whickered softly.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

Eames groaned and leant his head against her neck.

“Fuck. I haven’t been scared for years. It’s kind of nostalgic and awful at the same time.”

Bridie snorted, throwing her head up.

“Alright, alright, I’m pulling myself together, I’m fine, we’re cool, we’re going to fuck some shit up and then this will all be over and you and Phillip will have lots of beautiful foals and I can suck it up and ask Arthur to marry me because I love him so much it’s painful, often physically so, given the height of his balcony, and everything will all be lovely and good. Right.”

 

“Am I interrupting again?” Arthur asked, from behind Eames.

Eames winced.

“How much have you heard?”

“Enough,” said Arthur, and then his arms were around him, holding him from behind, pressed against the cool metal of his armour, head resting on his shoulder, “I’m sorry my brother tried to kill you, by the way.”

“Oh, it was good practise. Turns out there’ll be lots of people trying to kill me today.”

“ _Eames_.”

“Sorry, sorry. I’m just a bit nervous. Threat of imminent death and all. It’s just – I’ve never had anything to lose before. Now I have you.”

“You’re not going to lose me.”

“You promise?”

“Well, it’s not exactly like I’m planning on getting myself killed today.”

“ _Arthur_.”

“Sorry.”

 

Eames took a breath.

“Arthur, I – I need to know that I’m not going to lose you. Ever. That I’ll always have you. I don’t want to live without you again. I’ve found my way back to you and this is where I want to stay. I want us to be together, always. Do you think – is that something – you might want?”

“What are you asking me?”

“I’m asking you to marry me.”

“Are you?” asked Arthur, and his voice was shaky.

Eames turned around, taking Arthur’s hands, and pressed their foreheads together.

“Darling. Don’t cry.”

Arthur sniffed.

“It’s my pollen allergy. Always happens this time of year. Although it is aggravated sometimes by certain knights with flowers.”

“I love you so much,” said Eames, and kissed him hard, like he might never kiss him again.

It was the same way he’d kissed him four years ago, when he’d asked Arthur to come back for him, and Arthur had made no promises. He’d known then that the chances were he’d never see him again.

“I have to go,” said Arthur, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand.

“You haven’t given me an answer.”

“I’ll tell you when the battle’s over. When – when you come back and find me again.”

When Arthur kissed him, he tasted like salt.

 

 

“Where do you need me? I am ready to fight,” Ariadne said proudly, presenting herself to her father in the Great Hall.

“Sweetheart, you’re six years old. You can’t,” said the king.

“I’m _seven_! And I can! Eames taught me how to.”

“Ariadne, just because your brother’s boyfriend decided to humour you a few afternoons by mucking about with you on a field, does not mean you can fight.”

“But _dad_! Dom and Arthur are! Everyone’s enjoying war except me!”

“Alright, Scrappy Doo, calm your tits. Your brothers are old enough to get themselves killed if they want to. You aren’t. You’re to stay here. Consider it your duty to defend the Great Hall of Camelot.”

“That’s a shit duty.”

“A knight does not question the commands of the king. Now stay here.”

 

 

“Verily, it is indeed an honour to fight by your side, good Sir Eames,” said Robert Fischer.

(Really, who else could have said that?)

“Yeah, likewise,” said Eames.

The knights were all lined up outside the castle, ready to act as the first line of defence and charge the enemy troops. They’d been split into small, manoeuvrable groups, and Fischer had been put next to Eames. It seemed now they were destined to be ‘battle buddies’. Eames was looking forward to this evening less and less. Last night, he’d been with his darling. Tonight, he might have to die for him. He greatly preferred the night that involved orgasms.

“Thou fightst for thine beloved,” said Fischer, “Again.”

“Yeah, the kid’s getting me physically injured a lot,” said Eames, gesturing to his arm, the bandage now stained red, “Bites like a fucking tiger.”

Fischer pulled a face.

“Well. If that floats thine vessel.”

“I meant my wound, not Arthur.”

“Oh! I see thine meaning,” Fischer smiled.

It was going to be a long night.

 

 

Saito’s army arrived at nightfall. Arthur watched from the wall as King Saito rode up to the castle and gave an eloquent speech, demanding that Uther surrender and spare the lives of his people.

“Fuck you!” said King Uther.

And that was it. The battle for Camelot began. Arthur had never been so scared. He watched as the knights charged into the enemy lines, withdrawing before they got caught in hand to hand fighting. That was Eames down there. That was Dom, too.

“Ready!” he shouted down the line.

The men along the line drew back their arrows. Arthur had gathered them together that afternoon. King Uther had asked for the best archers, and here they were – almost all of the men who had entered the archery tournament.

“Fire!” Arthur shouted, and watched as the flurry of arrows hit the front lines of Saito’s troops.

“Volley!” he cried, and every man shot off arrows as fast as he could.

Arthur took the bow from his shoulder – Eames’ longbow, the first bow he’d ever used – pulled back his arrow, and fired.

 

 

“Our attack hath had effect on the numbers of our enemy,” said Fischer, as he and Eames rode around the enemy lines, preparing for another attack, this time to the enemy’s flank.

Eames looked back at the castle. Already Saito’s men had pushed ladders against the castle walls and were climbing up in swarms.

“This is why Uther really should have invested in a moat,” he said, to no-one in particular.

“Ye, it shall not be long before they do penetrate the walls entirely,” said Fischer.

Eames tried not to laugh at the word ‘penetrate’ as they spurred their horses on for the next attack.

 

 

The castle walls were overrun with Saito’s men. Arthur had had to swap Eames’ longbow for a sword and shield as he and his men tried to stop them from getting any further inside the castle. They couldn’t hold them back for long. The soldiers kept coming up, one after the other, and before long they’d made their way to the castle gates, trying to open them from the inside and let the whole army come rushing in. And that was exactly what they did.

 

 

Eames lost track of time pretty quickly after that. There was a lot of shouting and hacking and killing and then for some reason everything was on fire and he was inside the castle, which was where practically everyone else was too, bogged down in hand-to-hand fighting, and them some nasty stuff happened involving this guy’s neck and a pike that Eames would rather forget and his arm hurt and then so did his leg and chest and he had no idea what was going on or who was winning or what he was doing anymore.

 

Arthur was a lot more lucid about the whole thing, probably because he was so fucking terrified. Once the gates had been opened, the castle had been flooded with enemy soldiers, and the knights chased in after them, shutting the gates behind them. Arthur shouted for his archers to shoot down the enemies in the courtyard, easy targets now they were trapped inside the castle walls. Stupid poncey Prince Legolas of Gonorrhoea or wherever _would_ insist on doing something ridiculous with his scimitars and kept count of his kills because he had some bet against the little ginger guy with an axe and serious anger management issues who was tearing through the castle like a bloody psycho.

 

Saito’s men were trying to run anywhere they could to take cover, because now they were being cut to fucking pieces. Some of them were forcing their way into the Great Hall, and something terrible clicked in Arthur’s brain. Ariadne was in there. He charged his way down the castle wall, falling down most of the steps of the spiral staircase, which was painful and probably dented his armour quite a bit, and fought his way through to the Great Hall. And there was small group of soldiers by the doors, and Ariadne standing there in front of them with her tiny sword drawn.

“I am Princess Ariadne of Camelot! It is my duty to defend the Great Hall! Do panic, motherfuckers!”

“Get the _fuck_ away from my sister!” Arthur yelled, and charged at them, “You fucking _douchebags_ , she’s six years old!”

“I’m _seven_!” Ariadne yelled.

She stabbed the last man still standing in the back and Arthur plunged his sword into his throat before he could do anything about her.

“Take that, dickheads!” Ariadne shouted at the roomful of bodies.

“Are you okay?” Arthur asked, rushing over to her.

“Of course. I told you I could fight.”

“We have really got to thank Eames for giving you those lessons.”

 

 

Uther’s army had the upper hand, and were now finishing off Saito’s men. Eames felt a surge of hope, and then someone dragged him off his horse.

“Fuck,” he swore as he hit the ground, his armour too heavy for him to move quickly.

He struggled to stand up, but he was on his knees when the soldier who’d pulled him to the ground pulled back his sword, ready to slit his throat.

“Oh no you don’t,” someone behind the soldier said, and Eames saw the bloody end of sword push out of his stomach.

The soldier fell limply to one side, revealing his killer.

“Yusuf!” Eames cried, “Thanks, man!”

“NP, dude,” said Yusuf, pulling him to his feet, “I swore an oath to save your life in return for saving mine. My debt is now repaid.”

“Hang on, does this mean I don’t have a servant anymore?”

 

Yusuf didn’t have time to reply, because right then, there was a shout from the castle walls, and someone suddenly landed on top of Eames from a fair height. They both fell to the ground, sprawled out, groaning in pain.

“Dom,” said Yusuf, looking down at him and not doing anything, “Good to see you.”

“Fuck, my arm hurts,” said Dom.

“Oh, really, I wonder how that must feel,” said Eames, “Now get off me.”

Yusuf helped Dom to his feet.

“Thank you,” said Dom shakily, “When I fell off the wall, I thought I was a goner. It’s lucky you were there to break my fall, Eames.”

“Yeah,” Eames wheezed, “Lucky.”

He winced at the pain as Yusuf and Dom pulled him upright.

“Where do you hurt?” asked Yusuf.

“It’d probably be quicker to tell you what _doesn’t_ hurt.”

“What’s that?”

“The little toe on my right foot.”

“Well we’d better sort that out,” said Dom, and stamped on Eames’ foot.

“ _Aaah_! Oh fuck you, Dom, fuck you to _hell_!”

“Now we’re even,” said Dom.

“How does that make us even?!” Eames cried, “You stabbed me in the arm, fell on me from a height of at least twelve feet, and now you stamp on my toe! At no point in these proceedings have I injured you!”

“You fucked my little brother. That’s worse than any of those things.”

“I don’t see him complaining!”

 

Dom was about to shout something back at Eames when a horn sounded, low and loud, and everyone froze where they were, looking up to the keep. Both kings stood there, Saito and Uther, holding a roll of parchment. Saito was looking pretty pissy about the whole thing.

“I, King Saito of Caerleon,” he read from the parchment, “Do hereby order my army to retreat and leave the kingdom of Camelot forthwith, under pain of death.”

Uther grinned.

“Fight’s over,” he cried, “Camelot rules! Woo!”

The cheer of Camelot’s army was deafening.

 

 

Arthur was covered in blood and grime, aching (though he wasn’t entirely sure how much of that was from last night and how much was from the battle), and utterly, utterly exhausted. He’d got a servant to help him out of his now bent and broken armour, which improved matters, but there was a gash under his right eye that was bleeding quite a lot and he couldn’t find Eames for the life of him and Ariadne was really, _really_ not helping matters.

“Do you think he’s dead?” she asked.

“No, Ariadne, I don’t.”

“But you’re scared he might be, aren’t you?”

“He’s _fine_ , Ari.”

“How do you know?”

“He’s been in battles before. He knows what he’s doing.”

“That doesn’t mean he can’t die. What if there were lots of soldiers, all around him, and he couldn’t fight them off? Or if –”

“Shut up, Ari.”

Ariadne did as she was told and they walked on in silence.

“Dom!” she cried as they rounded a corner and she spotted her brother, sitting on a barrel, his shirt off, with Lady Mal tending to his wounds.

“Ow,” he said as Ariadne jumped on him.

“Are you alright?” she asked hurriedly, “How many men did you kill? Have you broken anything? Where’s Eames? Is he dead? Please don’t say he’s dead!”

“He’s fine,” said Dom, “He’s just over there, look.”

Arthur turned and saw Eames, who looked by all accounts to be in a worse state than him, standing by the castle wall and trying to pull his gauntlets off, with little success.

 

“Eames!” he shouted, and ran over to him, practically crashing into him and pinning him to the wall.

“Easy on the goods, love,” said Eames, wincing in pain.

“Sorry,” said Arthur, pulling back, “I’m just – uh – I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Me too. Glad that you’re okay, that is. And me. I mean, I’m glad I’m okay, but I meant –”

“Shut up,” said Arthur, and kissed him fiercely, all teeth and tongue, as if they’d been apart for months, not hours.

“Oh. Er. That’s nice,” Eames mumbled.

“Get a room!” Dom shouted.

Arthur twisted round to face him.

“We did last night but you seemed to take issue with that!”

“Fuck you!” Dom yelled.

Arthur turned back to kiss Eames again, giving Dom the finger. Eames moaned quietly, probably in pain, and Arthur pulled away.

“Are you alright?”

“My entire body hurts.”

“Surely not your _entire_ body.”

“Everything, Arthur.”

“Even your –”

“ _Everything_.”

Arthur cupped Eames’ face in his hands.

“Awh, my poor baby,” he said, kissing the tip of his nose.

“I’ll be fine,” Eames mumbled, “Just need some paracetemol.”

“I think you need to see a physician.”

“Really? Hate physicians. Latex gloves. Bad memories.”

Arthur decided not to ask. Eames had experienced a fair amount of blood loss.

“Come on, you,” he said, taking Eames’ hand and leading him away.

 

“Wait,” said Eames, pulling him back, “Isn’t there something you should tell me? Your answer?”

“It can wait. Let’s get you seen to first.”

“But you said after the battle was over!”

“I didn’t specify _how soon_ after the battle was over.”

“You’re going to keep me waiting for forty years, now, aren’t you?”

“What for?” Ariadne piped up.

“It’s nothing,” said Arthur.

“Nothing?!” Eames cried, “Me asking you to marry me is _nothing_?”

“I didn’t mean it like –”

“ _What_?” cried Dom, “You can’t marry _him_!”

“Fuck you, Dom,” said Arthur, “I’ll marry him if I want to!”

“But he doesn’t even care about you!”

“Fuck you, Dom,” said Eames, “I fucking _love_ him! What more do I have to do to prove it? Die?”

“That sounds like a good idea,” said Dom, shrugging, “Want me to help you out with that?”

“Haven’t you injured me enough today?”

“Are you still breathing?”

“Yes?”

“Well, then I clearly haven’t.”

“Oh my _God_!” shouted Arthur, “I think we’ve all fought enough for one day!”

“So we can start again tomorrow?” said Dom.

 

“No!” Arthur yelled, “Just – both of you shut up and listen to me! Dom, I’m nineteen, don’t tell me how to live. It’s my life and I want Eames to be in it so you’re just going to have to suck it up and deal with it. Eames, in spite of everything, I would appreciate the continued existence of my brother. If you want me, a load of other shit comes as well, including Dom. It’s a package deal. I love you, and you love me, but both of you are just going to have to grow the fuck up.”

Dom and Eames just stood there in silence.

“Now shake hands and make friends,” said Ariadne, joining in with ordering people around.

“Go on,” said Arthur, nudging Eames.

Eames gave him a look, but went towards Dom, holding out his hand.

“I think you’re a dick,” said Eames, “But Arthur loves you, so you can’t be too bad.”

Dom’s mouth twisted, and he relented, shaking Eames’ hand.

“My sentiments exactly.”

“ _Thank you_ ,” said Arthur, sighing, “About time.”

He took Eames’ hand.

“Come on. You’re seeing a physician.”

“Do I have to?”

“Yes,” said Arthur, tugging him away.

“So, _are_ you going to marry Eames?” Ariadne asked.

“Shut up, Ari,” said Arthur.

 

 

In the end, the physician was busy seeing to other people, and said that if Eames was well enough to bitch about how much he hurt then he obviously wasn’t injured enough to see him. So, Arthur took Eames back to his bedroom and played nurse. It was not the role he was best suited to. He managed to hit Eames in the head while taking off his breastplate, bend his arm round painfully while taking off his gauntlets, and step on his foot while taking off his greaves.

“Aaah, darling, please, be gentle with me,” Eames begged, sitting on the bed as Arthur took off his shirt, fingernails scraping his skin.

“Oh, man up,” said Arthur, then he saw Eames’ bare arms and chest, and he bit his lip.

Eames’ torso and arms were mapped with bruises. The bandage around his arm was saturated in blood, and there was a fresh cut running down his side.

“Okay,” Arthur said, “I can see what you were moaning about now.”

Eames whimpered, looking down at himself, and Arthur took pity and kissed him, making sure that their lips were the only thing that touched. He soaked a strip of cloth in the bowl of water sitting on the bed next to Eames.

“I can take care of you, too,” he said, and started to clean the cut on Eames’ torso.

“I don’t know,” said Eames, “I feel like I’m just getting rough love at the moment.”

Arthur put a finger to Eames’ lips.

“Stop talking.”

“No.”

“Hush. I am your prince, and that is an order.”

“I’ve never been much good at doing what I’m told.”

Arthur smiled a little.

“Neither have I.”

“Oh, I know.”

Arthur gave him a look.

“How do you manage to make me giving you first aid into foreplay?”

“I can make anything into foreplay.”

“What about animal husbandry?”

“ _Especially_ animal husbandry. Gotta breed that livestock, if you know what I mean.”

 

Arthur laughed.

“I love you,” he said, shaking his head.

There was a brief silence.

“You’ve never said that to me before,” Eames said quietly.

“No,” said Arthur, not looking up from Eames’ cut, “I suppose I haven’t.”

Eames took Arthur’s chin, tipping his face up to look at him.

“Do you mean it?” he asked.

“What? Of _course_ I mean it, you idiot. I love you more than it is entirely necessary or appropriate to love another human being. It’s very inconvenient.”

Eames smiled.

“I’m sorry for being so inconvenient for you.”

Arthur shrugged.

“It’s not a problem. I think I like it.”

“I’m going to kiss you now,” said Eames, “Because if you talk any more I’m going to turn into an incoherent mush of love and dribble.”

“That doesn’t sound very attractive,” said Arthur, and Eames kissed him.

He pulled Arthur up onto his lap and kissed him for all he was worth, not caring about the pain as Arthur pressed against his bruised skin, groaning in the back of his throat and sucking Arthur’s lower lip into his mouth.

 

“Oh God,” he said, leaning their foreheads together, “ _Please_ say you’ll marry me.”

Arthur smiled.

“Ask nicely.”

Eames pulled back to look at him seriously.

“Arthur, my darling. I’ve loved you for four years. Please, let me love you for the rest of my life. Will you marry me?”

Arthur’s smile was bright and beautiful.

“Yes,” he said, and leant forwards to kiss him, “Always, _always_ , yes.”

Eames pulled his arms around Arthur’s waist and held him as Arthur kissed him, gentle and warm and full of promise.

 

“Hey, I just wanted to – oh. Hi Arthur.”

Arthur and Eames broke apart, turning to see Yusuf at the door.

“Should I come back later?” he asked.

“It’s fine,” said Eames.

“Is it?” said Arthur, running a finger down Eames’ collarbone.

“I just wanted to get my stuff,” said Yusuf, “Now I won’t be working for you anymore.”

“Sure,” said Eames.

Yusuf quickly grabbed a few things, stuffing them into his bag.

“I’m going to miss you, man,” said Eames.

“I don’t know how you can say that in all seriousness when the teenager you’ve been publicly lusting over for weeks is in your lap,” said Yusuf.

“No, really. We’ve had some good times, haven’t we?”

Yusuf pulled a face.

“Yeah. Mixed in with the run-ins with the authorities and getting chucked out of pubs and castles and kingdoms.”

 

“What are you going to do now?”

“I’ve always wanted to be a chemist,” said Yusuf, stroking his beard, “I think I might see if there are any job vacancies in pharmaceuticals. What about you?”

Eames grinned, running his hands up Arthur’s sides.

“I’m going to marry this man.”

“Treat him well,” said Yusuf, “You’ve worked hard enough to get him, now you’ve got to make him happy.”

“I don’t think we’ll have much trouble with that,” said Arthur.

Yusuf shook his head.

“Never thought I’d see you settle down, Eames. What happened?”

Eames shrugged.

“I guess I finally figured out how to woo my maiden.”

“Good luck, to both of you.”

“I’ll be sad to see you go,” said Eames.

“Calm down, I’m not leaving you forever. I’m just not going to be your servant anymore.”

“ _Oh_ ,” said Eames, “I thought you meant you were _leaving_ leaving.”

“What? No. I’m just leaving. I’m not _leaving_ leaving.”

“Well that’s all good,” said Arthur brusquely, “Now, if you’ve got your stuff, Yusuf, I’m sure you’ve got a lot to sort out.”

Yusuf backed out of the room.

“I’ll lock the door,” he said.

“Now,” said Arthur, leaning closer to Eames, “Where were we?”

Arthur kissed him, warm and open and all his, and Eames grinned stupidly.

“What is it?” asked Arthur.

“Nothing. Just – we’re getting hitched. We’re going to be _married_. It’s a thing.”

Arthur pulled a face.

“Chained to you for life. It’s going to be a _nightmare_. You’re bad enough already.”

Eames kissed him.

“Look on the bright side. How could it get any worse?”


	5. Epilogue: The Knight and the Prince

Once upon a time, there lived a rather moody prince. But even though he could be bloody hard work sometimes, there was a knight who loved him very much. And even though the prince thought he was a fucking idiot sometimes, he loved him very much too. They got very angry with each other at times, but they always made up and had fantastic sex afterwards and it was all good. Everyone in the kingdom was excited on their wedding day, mostly because it was a good excuse to party. (Well, not quite everyone – the prince’s brother was less than thrilled, but he was a twat and no-one really cared what he thought anyway, apart from his fiancée.)

 

The knight stood in the Great Hall, anxiously waiting for the prince to appear.

“Nervous?” asked the knight’s manservant.

(Well, actually, he was his ex-manservant. He’d now left the knight’s employment and was working in the Camelot-based retail outlet of Superdrug.)

“I am literally shitting myself,” said the knight.

“ _Literally_? Because that could be dysentery.”

“No, not literally, that’s gross. I’m just – I’m freaking out a bit here, okay.”

“You’re not having second thoughts?”

“ _What_? No! _Fuck_ no. What do you take me for? Do you think I don’t love him? Is that it? Because –”

“Dude, take a chill pill! What’s making you so weird?”

The knight sighed.

“I’m scared I’m going to do something wrong. Something _always_ goes wrong. I just want our marriage to start well!”

“It _will_. Calm down. Listen to some whale songs or something.”

“I’m about to get married! I can’t just whip out my ipod!”

“Okay, just, I don’t know, breathe into a paper bag?”

“I don’t _have_ a paper bag! Who brings a paper bag to their wedding?”

 

“Are you alright?” asked the king.

“ _Fine_ ,” said the knight unconvincingly, “It’s all fine. _Fine_.”

The king frowned.

“You’re not having second thoughts?”

“Oh my _God_! Why is everyone saying that? Do all of you doubt me? Am I not good enough for him? I just want to make him happy! Fuck my life! Oh –”

“Sweetheart, you’re ranting,” said the ex-manservant.

The king gave him a fatherly pat on the shoulder.

“I was worried on my wedding day too, son. Though that was mostly because I didn’t want anyone to notice the bride was up the duff.”

“I don’t think your son’s pregnant, your highness,” said the ex-manservant.

“You never know,” said the king, narrowing his eyes at the knight, “You never know.”

“You’re joking, right?” said the knight, “ _Please_ say you’re joking.”

“Well…”

“I’m not ready to be a father! I don’t even know if I’m ready to be a husband! Oh _God_!”

“Pull yourself together!” said the ex-manservant, slapping him in the face.

The knight took a deep breath.

“Okay. Okay, I can do this.”

 

At that moment, the prince arrived, which was just as well, because his future husband would probably have gone into meltdown if he’d had to wait much longer. Seeing as the king would be conducting the marriage ceremony, the prince’s brother was giving him away, albeit rather reluctantly. (The prince hadn’t been too big on being the bride at first, until everyone pointed out how much he screamed in bed and he kind of saw where they were coming from.) The little princess walked in front of them, carrying a bunch of flowers which thankfully no-one was allergic to. The knight looked behind him and was rewarded with a smile from the prince and princess, and a scowl from their brother.

“I have been stressing out so much,” he said as the prince reached him, taking his hands.

“You’re not having second thoughts?” asked the prince’s brother.

“If one more person asks me that, I swear to God –”

“Just making sure,” said the prince’s brother, squinting at him.

The knight gripped the prince’s hands a bit too tightly.

“Are you okay? You’re not pregnant, are you?”

“Are you saying I’m fat?”

“No, just –”

“Dearly beloved,” the king began loudly before his future son-in-law could embarrass himself further.

“You’re going to be fine,” the prince whispered as his father continued with the ceremony, saying something about unions and love that was probably full of innuendos.

“How do you know?” the knight whispered back, still panicky, “Have you done this before?”

“If that is a serious question I will punch you in the face.”

“Please don’t do that again. You bitched for hours about how much your hand hurt.”

“You have a hard face.”

“Yeah, I can’t just keep ramming it into your fist like that.”

“It was your fault anyway for not telling me where our honeymoon is.”

“That’s the whole idea of a surprise, darling.”

The prince put a finger to the knight’s lips.

“Hush. We’re getting married.”

 

“… And as Camelot thrusts deeply into a new age,” the king concluded, “So will these two people thrust into each other’s lives. May the unyielding firmness of their love spill over this great kingdom and fill us all for many years to come.”

The prince’s brother handed over the rings, though he didn’t look all that thrilled about it. The rings had been forged by the royal smith, combining the royal crest with the knight’s coat of arms in the detailing. The prince frowned as he noticed something else inscribed on the inside of his ring. It was a tiny picture of a leaping wolf. He smiled quietly to himself. The vows were simple; the same vows that the king and queen had made to each other twenty years ago: “In war and in peace, in youth and in old age, in victory and in defeat, in plenty and in need.”

“It gives me great pleasure,” said the king, “To pronounce you legally wedded.”

The Great Hall packed full of people clapped and cheered, and the knight could only smile stupidly at the man who was now his husband.

“Well, go on,” said the king, nudging him, “Give him a snog!”

The knight pulled the prince close and kissed him, warm and open and more than a little relieved that the difficult part was over.

“Sayest thine ‘cheese’!” said the prince’s cousin, popping up with a camera that was probably pointed in the wrong direction.

(He really didn’t understand technology – it was like he was living in the Dark Ages or something.)

“Okay, guys,” said the prince’s brother, “You can stop making out now, there are children about. Keep it family-friendly.”

It was only then that the knight realised he was groping his husband’s arse. He pulled away, taking the prince’s hand.

“Shall we?”

The prince smiled and the knight led him out of the Great Hall, into the crowded courtyard, full of people excited about the royal wedding – or, more accurately, the free alcohol that came with it.

“Surely now you can tell me where our honeymoon is?” said the prince.

“We won’t be going for a while yet. We’ve got to have the reception first.”

“I’m your prince, I can order you if I want to. You are beneath me.”

“I prefer it when you’re beneath me, darling.”

“ _Tell. Me._ ”

The knight smiled slyly.

“I hear Zenith is lovely this time of year.”

 

So, the upshot of it was, the prince and the knight had a very memorable honeymoon in Zenith, which consisted mostly of bumping into the nobles the knight had slept with in order to become a knight, thereby making the prince jealous enough that he dragged the knight to bed and made him swear he was his quite a lot. (If he didn’t know better, he’d have said that was the knight’s plan all along. He certainly wasn’t complaining about the jealousy sex.) Anyway, they came home in time for the prince’s brother’s wedding, which was a considerably quieter affair, although they may have possibly got a bit drunk and started grinding towards the end of the evening.

 

It was the start of their marriage, the start of their lives together. And even though there had been a lot of cock-ups along the way, and even though they still sometimes got angry with each other, they did truly love one another, and that was all that mattered.

 

Needless to say, they all lived very happily ever after.


End file.
